Power Chords
by His Excellency TeenageAngst
Summary: Archon of the Kabal of the Iron Maiden, Erinyes Irons isn't a typical member of Commorragh aristocracy. Her Kabal is withering away under the manipulations of her rivals as she is forced to take drastic measures to ensure her survival. With blaster in hand and a swagger in her shriveled heart, Erinyes goes on a heavy metal infused 80s action romp through the galaxy.
1. Caustic Beginnings

Thick argon-heavy air sweltered in the heat of the young sun high above the surface of XGN-T29. Rumbling clouds overhead heralded the coming afternoon ammonia-storm, the lightning streaking across the sky, thunder muddling the sound of distant combat. Ranks of corroded armor and half-consumed flesh slogged through the mud and primitive foliage, their fleshy bodies and burbling tanks leaving trails of sickness in their wake. They were less than a mile away and closing rapidly over what would otherwise be impassable terrain; hundreds of corrupted mon-keigh bloated with the power of Chaos.

Watching this deadly formation from atop a ridgeline were dozens of slender, shadowy figures, their pointed dark blue helmets disguising varying looks of disgust and apprehension. Nervous fingers caressed the triggers of weathered splinter rifles, their owners by now well acquainted with their lot in these raids. A pair of anti-grav carriers, their battered Raiders, hung in formation behind them. They were both shorn down to bare metal, the paint long since worn off by countless deployments. Mis-matched colors of "loaner" Venom gunboats clashed with the Kabal's heraldry and took uneasy aim at their allies' backs, lest a coward amongst them should get any ideas. Further down the ridge behind them all, a hideous floating creature the size of a tank hummed almost motionless in mid air, seemingly unaware of the danger lurking below.

Standing on ridge before them all was an imposing figure in old, sturdy dusky-blue armor. Her spiked fist clenched an old orange and brown blaster with the words "RUSTY" scratched into the stock. Her tall and spiked helmet's eyes glowed a faint red as its respirator scrubbers tried desperately to salvage what oxygen it could from the caustic atmosphere, the residue dripping onto her breastplate like saliva from a hungry dog. Infrared sensors and data links fed her information on the mass of creatures below as the commlinks opened.

A low masculine voice sounded in their helmets, "Kabal of the Iron Maiden, the aliens are getting within range of the main raid. Engage your sector."

"Affirmative," the poised figure replied, her tone strong. The Kabal behind her instantly latched themselves to their respective gunships, their chain-belts clinging to secure metal hardpoints. A few re-checked their poison loadout, ensuring they had the right toxins to combat the plagued soldiers. The buzzing behind them grew louder as the Talos roused from its slumber, its lethal tail rising into the air. The Archon however held her position and returned to monitoring the formation of creatures below. At least fifty marines, five corrupted Predator tanks, a dozen Rhinos, and Khaine only knew how many daemons and plague zombies were haunting between their ranks. She watched motionless as they lumbered closer, uneasy about giving the order to strike just yet.

"Archon Irons, deploy!" Her comms commanded. Pain synapses wired to their helmets snapped like a shock collar, lashing them all with nerve-rending jolts. The warriors behind her spat and cursed under their breath but the Archon merely twitched, still belaying the order.

"Mistress, we must attack, we'll be overwhelmed if we don't get moving now," one of her Sybarites insisted.

"These warp-touched aliens can't hope to catch our Raiders," she replied, still not taking her eyes off the enemy.

"I was not talking about the mon-keighs, my lady," he reiterated, pointing towards the flanking Dark Eldar craft coalescing to the east.

Taken aback, the Archon looked up and glanced in their direction, "Shit."

"Erinyes Irons," the voice shouted, "get your half-born ass and that cesspit you call a Kabal out there!" A second zap of pain pierced their helmets.

Archon Irons grunted as she raised a hand to her metal-encased temple, "Hail the Reavers and tell the Razorwing to get in the air. Looks like we can't wait for the storm to give us cover."

Thunder overhead rolled over the raiding party as their engines roared to life. The Sybarites grabbed their helmets and began shouting on various channels as strike crafts lifted into the air. Blades on the Talos whirred to life while the pumps on its back churned its thick poisonous blood. Its liquifier gun dribbled a noxious payload onto the ground in anticipation. Archon Irons grabbed onto the side of her Raider, the _Naglfari_ , climbed onto the bow, and secured her chain-belt. With one hand in the air and the other clutching her blaster, she waited. Thunder rolled across them once again, shards of lightning scattering over the now dangerously close advancing force of Chaos. Then a second boom came, the tell-tale pop of a supersonic blast. The foe below them tensed immediately, bringing their bulky human weapons to bear as they searched the leaden skies for some sign of the cause. Four bolts of lightning struck the ground in catastrophic thuds, their explosions petrifying and shattering the corpses of the Chaos-infused aliens like frag grenades. Moments later the ear-piercing shriek of the Razorwing's supersonic engines tore at their ears.

"Attack!" The Archon threw her arm forward and braced her legs against the front railing of the Raider, leaning back to pull the chain-belt taught. The craft surged forward with frightening speed, going almost parallel with the cliff as it plunged towards the earth below. Erinyes held tight, one hand on the sturdy chain and the other on her weapon, already taking aim on her quarry. The helmsman pulled up at the last second and the Raider craft leapt forward, boosted by the pent up anti-grav field. The Venoms followed a safe distance behind and the chatter of their splinter cannons hailed their arrival, bits of crystal flying into the side of the Chaos formation.

Like a banshee wail (no not that kind) a trio of jetbikes sped across the field to a symphony of bolter fire. The pounding thuds of the human guns echoed off the surrounding cliffs, missing every shot as the bikes slashed through their ranks, bouncing and jinking in mid-air over their heads, dropping explosive caltrops as they went. The Archon could feel the noise reverberating in her chest as the Raider neared, filling her with the exhilaration of battle. With a flick of her hand the helmsman turned the craft broadside to the foe, slowing down as the Kabalites unleashed rapid fire salvos into the former Space Marines. As soon as the fiends turned to face the _Naglfari_ it sped up, the built-in night shields projecting an inky black outline as it bounded towards the line of escorting armor.

Archon Irons cracked a shot off, a bolt of darklight blowing a hole in the chest of a marine, smearing his insides in hyperactive radiation. At the same time the dark lance on the front of the Raider blasted a hole in the glacis of an oncoming Rhino. The metal box's left track shattering as it wheeled around on its right, blocking another two lanes in against a low cliffside and halting the formation. The Reaver jetbikes swirled overhead, coming in for another pass as the ammonia-laced rain began to fall, drenching the field in an acrid chemical smell.

The sun became muted through the building cloud cover as the second Raider made its pass over the infantry. Flashes of lightning gave a flickershow of the Talos ravaging the enemy ranks, its liquifier gun melting those that stood before it into thick mucus as its heat lance burned through the chest of another Plague Marine. Erinyes watched with satisfaction as the face of plague zombies melted in the caustic sludge her pet dispensed. The crackles of the bolters grew into a deafening roar as they rallied against the monstrous creature, the corrupt humans finally having a stationary target to fixate on. A wall of splinter shards fell on them like so much of the corrosive rain as the Venoms desperately tried to give it come covering fire. The rattle of a disintegrator cannon on the other Raider shattered another squad of marines, their armored bodies crunching like insects.

The _Naglfari_ circled higher as Archon Irons grimaced under her helmet at the turmoil she saw. These Nurgle-slaves knew neither pain nor fear; they were the most contemptible of all the foes she'd faced save perhaps the malignant force that was She Who Thirsts. She lined her blaster up for another shot as a thick beam shot from a Predator, shattering the hull of a Venom across the field. The Archon could only watch as the warriors within were engulfed in the explosion. Two were impaled on shards of metal from their own craft while the remaining crew were trapped, pinned beneath the wreckage. A horde of Nurglings scrambled from the muck and ooze towards the wreck as agonizing wails rang through their comms, begging their comrades for help before the wet slapping of disease-ridden claws ended their lives. Now, the Archon thought, that was more like it.

"Close ranks and concentrate fire on the heavy weapons. Get that Razorwing to do a pass on the Rhino line," she ordered, the comms sputtering as her helmet discharged a load of ammonia from the air ducts.

"Confirmed," her two remaining Sybarites replied in unison. The loss of their lend-lease armor and warriors seemed to have raised their spirits, that or the combat drugs were kicking in. At any rate they seemed more enthusiastic now that there was some proper anguish on the field. The second Raider shot forward to flank the humans' sluggish armored line, its disintegrator peppering the side of a Predator tank to no effect. This earned it a shot from another lascannon, its lethal bolt missing the gunship by mere inches as its helmsman jinked back, swinging the disintegrator wildly out of aim. The warriors were tossed around but kept up fire on the mass of Plague Marines, the bolter shots pock-marking the already dulled finish on the Raider's fragile hull.

A handful of Plague Marines within range of the Raider chucked disgusting globs of flesh onto the open deck and Erinyes tapped her helmet to get a closer look. Warriors stopped firing momentarily to watch as the things rolled around the deck. They were human heads bloated with disease and capped with wax, churning and bubbling with every jostle. One exploded in an eruption of diseased pus, setting the other plague grenades off in a cascade of toxins. The warriors on board caught in the blast began tearing their armor off frantically, their pallid skin stretching to burst as their welting flesh crawled away in sickening burns. A warrior peeled the slough from his cheek as he fell from the deck into the melee below, only to be eaten alive by the tiny nurglings running underfoot.

Archon Irons snapped her attention away from the terrible but enthralling spectacle as the _Naglfari_ swung low. Its dark lance planted a shot into a hulking slab of armor but merely glanced off, doing minimal damage. She frowned as she turned to the gunner, his helmet drooling much like her own and slobbering moisture all over the controls. As the Raider swung around to continue circling the armored line she unhooked her chain-belt, falling a dozen feet onto the hull of a Rhino below. Holding her blaster out with one arm she popped a shot off into the fighting compartment, the vehicle suddenly lurching forward at full speed as the dead driver jammed the controls. A handful of corrupted Space Marines were crushed as the half-melted dozer blade on front ran over them like so much brush. Taking a hint from their leader, the two Raiders drove their reinforced shock-prows deep into the ranks of the enemy. One's engine caught fire as a bolter shot straight through the lightly-armored undercarriage but it pressed on, the helmsman forcing the ship forward on the remaining two engines. Kabalite warriors on board stabbed and shot frantically as the relentless marines attempted to board their vessels, apparently unimpressed with their tank shock tactics.

Erinyes fired at a Plague Marine trying to climb aboard her commandeered Rhino, the blaster tearing the slovenly creature's arm off. In the distance, the Talos pain engine was beginning to buckle under the constant small-arms fire. The spinning drums of spikes and barbed wire it called a hand were jammed with the thick plates of marines and its toxic blood was exhausted. The heat lance on its tail lowered slowly as a bolter shattered one of its conductive tips.

"Eddie!" the Archon cried, leaping from the back of the human machine. She sprinted towards her Raider, the anti-grav ship now thoroughly beaten by enemy fire. It lowered just enough let her catch on before the helmsman slammed the controls forward, launching the ship so hard it took the arms of several groping plague zombies with it. The second Raider struggled to keep pace with the _Naglfari_ , its damaged engine now joined by its flaming brother. Smoke trailed behind both craft as the lethal lascannons of the remaining Predators took aim. Bolter shells surrounded the fleeing Dark Eldar in a concussive hail.

The Reaver jetbikes swarmed over the marines once more, making another pass to cover their escape with their razor sharp bladevanes. One marine planted a shot right in the grav-drive, bringing the jetbike down into the midst of his daemonic allies. The helpless rider had only moments to scream for his life before the plague zombies tore him to pieces. In their unholy fervor the wych rider's body parts went flying through the air only to be caught by other zombies and devoured on the spot.

Night shields danced around the outline of the Raiders, distorting their image under the dark clouds as they charged full steam away from the carnage. A bolt of las energy scorched the hull of one, just narrowly missing the vital components underneath. As both grav-ships neared the struggling Talos an explosion reverberated behind them. Archon Irons glanced back to see another Rhino in pieces, the holes of two dark lances prominent in its rear armor. A gust of wind rushed over them as the Razorwing Jetfighter made its second pass, the nose-mounted splinter cannon giving the enormous torture device and its struggling Kabal some breathing room.

"Fall back to the portal, we're done here," the Archon commanded in disgust, hoisting herself up onto the deck of her ship. There was no response verbal response, the thrill of battle quickly giving way to the morose swell of defeat as the Kabal scrambled to withdraw with their lives. With what power remained the two flying skiffs made for the cliff again, engines sputtering under the strain. The Plague Marines were in hot pursuit but couldn't hope to keep up with the speedy Dark Eldar, damaged ships or not. Even the Talos managed to stay ahead of the spray of their guns as it followed its mistress away from the throngs of fleshy meat puppets it so enjoyed playing with.

The webway portal opened like an extension of the sweltering cloud cover as the Razorwing darted straight through it, the massive arch shimmering under the clouds. The jetbikes followed, tailed by the decrepit Raiders barely clinging to the air. As the strike force emerged into the cold tunnel of the webway, Archon Irons took stock of their losses. Both Venoms were missing in action though she only saw one fall. Several of her warriors were dead, and both Raiders would need serious repair. They lost a jetbike, a skilled rider, and an entire squad of warriors. All this to come away empty handed.

"My Archon," her remaining Sybarite said, "We should close the gate, the mon-keigh—"

"Not yet," she interrupted, tearing the now useless breather off her helmet. The corroded scrubber hit the deck of the Raider as she reached into a pouch on her belt. The Archon pulled out a thin paper rolled around high quality grave lotus and placed it between her burgundy lips. The glowing red eyes on Erinyes' helmet scanned her warriors as she patiently secured the pouch again. She wasn't leaving without her pet.

Her anxious warriors looked to one another as the Sybarite unhooked himself from the Raider, "Mistress, if those Chaos-touched make it to the webway—"

"Not. Yet."

"But!"

The crack of her blaster going off chilled their blood. All eyes shot up to see a hole torn through the reality-fabric ceiling of the webway many stories above them. The warriors collectively looked down to see the lit cigarette smoking from their Archon's lips, the blaster positioned just below. With this, a hulking form emerged from the other side of the portal.

"Eddie, you certainly took your sweet time," she said, cigarette hanging limply from her mouth.

The Talos merely groaned, its body sundered and bleeding from the combat. Patches of its flesh were sloughing off from the Nurgle plague but it wasn't anything that a haemonculus couldn't fix.

Archon Irons shouldered her blaster and pulled her helmet off. White locks of her hair cascaded around her wide pauldrons as she snapped her armored fingers, "Alright, shut it down and let's go home."

Her Sybarite closed the portal immediately as the Raiders' engines fired up once more. It was half a day's journey back to the outskirts of Commorragh, plenty of time for the rank stench of defeat to fester in their nostrils like the plague they fled from. Or maybe that was the smell of leftover ammonia. Whatever the case, by the time the raiding party limped its way back to port the Archon was fit to be tied.

The Kabal of the Iron Maiden was small, even by lower city standards. It didn't even have its own lair, instead laying claim to the foot of a much larger Kabal tower. Payment for this location was extracted on the Archon's nerves and in the lives of her men, usually by demanding the Iron Maidens act as cannon fodder for the larger raids their landlord hosted. The owner of the tower, indeed the owner of the entire city district, was the Kabal of the Gypsy Road. The Archon who ran it, Salendrid, was an upstart trueborn hell bent on creating a name for himself in the inner rings of Commorragh. He had dozens of smaller Kabals such as hers under his purview. Most were run by half-borns and paying him tribute in souls, loyalty, and men. United they might have matched the Gypsy Road, but individually they were barely strong enough to hold their own block of the lower city. This mish-mash of dubious loyalty was most apparent after a raid such as this when a thronging mass of quarrelling lesser Kabals vied for their overlord's approval, the docks filled with their various trophies.

As the Raiders of the Iron Maidens buckled and lurched into their respective docks the shouts of bitter Kabalite rivalry gave way to sneers and laughter. The chain-hooks lining their boats, what few hadn't been blasted away or torn apart, were empty. Only a few scattered zombie limbs adorned Archon Irons' grav-craft, and those were only there because they weren't scraped off yet. As the disheveled Kabal of the Iron Maiden disembarked they were met with shoves and scoffs from the trueborn of the Gypsy Road, their purple and red armor glistening in the twilight atmosphere. While any other Dark Eldar would have slit their throats for such an insult, especially against an Archon, Erinyes knew where she stood. Her title was for all intents and purposes just for show. Her more seasoned warriors knew it too of course but they chose to follow her for different reasons, granting her a modicum of loyalty that the other Kabals lacked.

Salendrid stood by the displays of the howling Kabals, dispensing praise and disdain in equal measure. His thick purple armor seemed more like the imposing plates of his Incubi guard than those of his warriors. After a satisfied nod, Plague Marines and foetid zombies were escorted to the wych cult arenas he sponsored while the heads of Chaos champions were prominently displayed on the prows of Raiders and Ravager gunships. The Archon of the Gypsy Road beamed as Erinyes approached, motioning for her to come closer. The other Kabalites chuckled to one another as she walked forward, the clomping of her boots on the steel floor soon washed over by a hundred whispers.

"My Lady Irons, a pleasure you could join us," he said, the deep tone of his voice like a silken sheath.

Erinyes bowed with a flourish, her disheveled hair touching the ground, "My Lord, it is an honor."

He motioned for her to rise with a flick of his hand, "Please show us your magnificent bounty."

Archon Irons glanced back at her warriors, most of whom were still slimy with the discharge from their masks. Her Talos humming lazily in the background began to move forward, the tense warriors being pushed aside by its enormous armored carapace.

"My Archon," she started, "I'm afraid the only thing we have to show for our efforts is—"

A wet thump caused her to turn around, the Talos spitting out the half-rotten corpses of Chaos marines, amongst them a Plague Champion in full regalia. Erinyes looked back to Salendrid with poorly concealed surprise, awkwardly gesturing to the monstrous creature, "…Um, this squad of Chaos?"

The Gypsy Road Archon gave her a look of withering suspicion but nonetheless held his hand out. In it were the writhing souls of the lesser human species, a dozen fear-laden personalities ready to feast on. Erinyes accepted them with a gracious nod, backing away to join the ranks of her men. Salendrid watched until she was enveloped by her remaining warriors before turning back to the rest of the Kabals vying for his attention and praise.

Her Kabalite warriors gazed at the frightened souls with hungry eyes, some taking off their helms to size their payment up better. The Archon gave them a moment to wet their appetites before throwing them the lot. The once dignified and civilized Eldar she'd fought with turned into the feral Parched of the undercity, clutching for the screaming souls to gorge themselves and slake their long-standing thirst. She gave a wicked smile, making sure her men knew who the hand that fed them was, while hiding a faint disgust welling in her stomach. When she was through watching their reveries she left them to their meals, patting Eddie on its misshapen arm as she left and slipping him a well-concealed soul treat.

As she peeled away from the crowds, Erinyes scanned the line of gunboats docked at the Gypsy Road tower. The haphazard displays of most of the Kabals were nothing like their genuine counterparts but made for a good show. The bile rose in her throat as she contemplated just how thorough this pyramid scheme Salendrid was running really was. She'd fallen for it, as had thousands of others amongst dozens of smaller Kabals, and now she was in deep to an Archon all too willing to throw her in harm's way. A familiar Razorwing Jetfighter caught her eye and she took a deep breath, the annoyance of the day seething from her nostrils.

Its diminutive pilot stepped towards her, his silver helmet still in place. Kylendris was one of the most utterly loyal members of her Kabal but also the most taxing to deal with, and his absolute refusal to remove his headgear was just the start.

With a deep bow he addressed her, "My Lady Irons, how faired your raid?"

"Rise, Kyle," she said shortly.

"I saw the vicious mon-keigh climbing on the sides of our Raiders, but I knew better than to doubt your battle prowess."

"Thank you."

"Still, I like to think my skills were of some use. They were reeling after my shatterfield missiles went off, did you see? Reeling I say, for seconds, maybe even minutes!"

The Archon gently placed her hand on his helmet, his head coming up only to her shoulder, "Yes, Kyle, you did your part well."

"Thank you, my Archon!" he said, bowing slightly in appreciation of such praise. "Might I say, I have been studying our battle tactics and I might have come up with some improvements after this last encounter."

Erinyes fought the urge to rub her temples, the visible display of irritation would be too much for the other Kabalites to gloat over. Instead she remained silent, walking further down the docks of the Gypsy Road tower.

"I must admit, our Raiders are most excellent and of course your Talos is an absolute testament to your ferocious leadership!" he squeaked, hurrying beside her.

"Get to the point," she replied, not looking at him.

"I think if we had something else, perhaps a melee contingent to sow confusion amongst the enemy ranks. That would complement our raiding party so well."

Archon Irons paced the rows of Raiders and Venoms as she desperately tried to ignore him. Further down she spotted what she was looking for; a dull red Venom seemed out of place amongst the line of purple Gypsy Road vehicles. The borrowed vehicle must have been quickly docked in whatever port was available. A handful of blue-plated warriors loitered around it, among them one of her Sybarites.

"I was just thinking, you know, some of the bigger Kabals will take Harlequin troupes on their raids," Kyle blurted out as she increased her stride, his shorter legs having to jog to keep up. "If we could convince them to join us—"

"We are not going to invite the clowns on a raid, now beat it," she said in a firm tone. The Kabalite warriors noticed her approach, the Sybarite unshouldering his splinter rifle as she took her blaster off her back. He stepped forward, the warriors behind him uneasily bearing their own arms.

"My Archon!" the Sybarite exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you again-uh, so soon."

"Nisgarien, the surprise is mutual," she replied, pulling another grave lotus cigarette from her hip pouch. She snapped her fingers and lit the fag, taking a draw as she stepped towards the nervous warriors.

"When the other Venom exploded we thought that was it! Please, you have to understand," the Sybarite said, backing away.

"Explain it to me," she said, moving closer. The smoke on her breath billowed against his helmet as she slung her blaster behind her neck, both arms stretched behind it. She arched her back, pressing against her weapon as her posture seemed to heighten.

"That mission was suicide," he stammered, the other warriors all raising their splinter rifles now. "You said it yourself on the way there, Salendrid just throws us into meat grinders for his amusement."

"Uh huh," she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet a couple times.

"So… then why did you lead it in the first place?" he asked.

Even without psyker powers she could read him like a rent soul. He was confused, terrified, and ready to turn on her at a moment's notice. The Sybarite was a rabid animal and she was the farmer with a shotgun. She'd already given away all the souls she received in payment, and if there was one thing an Archon needed, even a fake one, it was gratification. She tasted the tense emotions hanging in the air and smiled, her lips curling around the paper of her cigarette.

"My Archon?"

In a flash she spun the blaster over her shoulder and pointed it at his face, a click engaging the darklight generator inside. The warriors behind him frantically glanced back and forth, unsure to whom their loyalty truly laid.

"Drop your guns, boys, and I'll make sure it's painless," she said, the smoke curling from her nostrils as the grave lotus hit, lighting up her eyes. She heard the clatter of splinter rifles against the cold floor as she stared her quarry in the eye. He slowly lowered his own rifle and placed it on the ground, the red eyes of his helm not leaving her face. Relaxing a bit, she lowered her own blaster.

"What will you do with me?" he asked, his tone low. The warriors behind him backed cautiously away.

Erinyes gave a half smile and pulled his helmet off, revealing the scarred and nicked face of an Eldar who hadn't sated his thirst in weeks. Taking the cigarette from her mouth she pressed it against his forehead, watching his expression screw up as it singed his pale flesh. While he was distracted she squeezed the trigger on her gun, blasting his armored foot into dust. The Sybarite cried out as he fell to the ground, gripping what was left of his missing leg.

"Stop moving, you're making it hard to aim," she said absently as she awkwardly aimed her blaster with one arm. With a crack the Sybarite's arm was blown clean off the edge of the docks, flying into the abyss below.

"You stupid halfborn bitch!" he swore, rolling over as his wound seeped out, "Salendrid will have us all killed!"

"Only if I miss and hit his precious docks," she said, kicking him over, "so _stop moving_."

He opened his mouth to speak again but she shoved her armored boot in his face, crushing his head against the steel floor. She drank in his suffering as he struggled to move her foot with his one remaining arm, his leg kicking furiously as she dug a plated heel into his throat. At last she pulled her boot away, letting him gasp for precious air through his collapsing windpipe. The other warriors knew better than to interfere with their mistress' punishments, each of them soaking up the pain she inflicted almost as much as she was.

"Beg for mercy, Nisgarien," she said, lowering her blaster once more, "make me believe it."

"I will not beg to a haallllf—" his words were cut off by her gun barrel pressing against his windpipe.

"What's that?"

"Merffy! Merffy my Archhn!" he cried, his lips bleeding from the heated barrel. "I bgh ofh you!"

Erinyes nodded appreciatively, "Very well, Nisgarien." She pulled the trigger and his head exploded, painting the walkway with a spray of blood. It was what he asked for after all. She looked up to the four warriors cowering behind the corpse of their former Sybarite, their armor coated in a thin film of his blood and pulverized bone. Tapping the snuffed end of her cigarette against the tip of her blaster the grave lotus lit again, smoking against the heated metal. Archon Irons took a drag and, her will enforced, placed the gun on her back once more.

"You four, clean this mess up and then meet me back in my lair," she said, pushing what was left of their leader with her toe.

"Yes, my Lady!" they shouted in unison.

The Archon turned around to see her pilot, Kylendris, still standing behind her. His mask obscured his expression but his trembling hands gave away his nervousness. Erinyes breathed deep, rejuvenated a bit after such a vulgar display of terror. "Kyle, have the rest of the Kabal assemble once their festivities are through."

"Y-yes, my Lady!" he stammered.

"And no more clown talk, alright?"


	2. Powerslave

Erinyes flicked her cigarette off the docks as she began the long, winding path down towards the lower streets of Commorragh. After making an example of her cowardly Sybarite she decided to take her time, catching a rare moment away from the prying eyes of her rivals. As much as she despised her underling's insubordination she couldn't exactly blame Nisgarien for his betrayal. He was acting out of self-interested survival, the same as any red-blooded Commorrite. As the Archon turned down away from the throngs of celebrating warriors his accusations of her patron, Salendrid, began to weigh on her.

The spires of the city's inner circle lingered in the distance as she strolled, the occasional passerby making sure to steer clear lest she have to use the intimidating blaster on her back. Towers and alcoves rose from the depths, each an ornately carved embellishment of their respective Kabal's personality and the opulence of their Archons. The sight of these wonders made Erinyes feel starkly out of place. The wielders of true power in this city carried masterwork blades of ancient renown, dressed in the finest armors, and were escorted by a constant trustworthy entourage of lethal Incubi. These were the Archons she aspired to be, the ranks she thought she was joining when she founded the Iron Maidens.

Archon Irons grabbed hold of a delicate railing winding down the path from the Gypsy Road tower and looked out over the sprawl. Rows of trueborn warriors in fine polished armor lined passages to the towers of rival Kabals. Their new arms and steely blades shined under the weak sunlight of the captured stars. Amongst these towers even the smallest Kabals had glorious archways and slithering roads leading to their massive foyers, the walkways ensconced by low walls and gun emplacements for easy defensive positions in case of attack.

Erinyes sank her clawed gauntlets into the frail stonework railing and felt a small bit crack under her grip. Her own armor was a hand-me-down she'd won in a bar bet down in Null City. Its long, pointed pauldrons and thick plates, while functional, hadn't been in fashion for centuries. As a matter of fact all her Kabal's equipment seemed to be secondhand and most of it just as old as hers. Although she was far from the last to wear such gear into battle, she was the only Archon she knew of who couldn't afford something newer, and that gave her reason to worry. Status was exuded in Commorragh, those who appeared weak were cut down like weeds. Her Kabal was beginning to grow a reputation even amongst the poor lower city dwellers of being on its last legs. Its coffers were bare and the other Kabals in the area were beginning to smell blood in the water. What's worse, after this last raid her numbers were now dangerously small.

The Archon continued down the path, its railings and carved stones giving way to raw pavement the further she went. Rancid moisture dripped from the spiraling overhangs above, collecting and running in streams down towards the River Khaides many tiers below where her own Kabal resided. Central Corespur was a dark and rank place, its streets packed with ambitious Kabalites of hundreds of rival factions, all just itching for a chance to slit each others' throats. More than once Erinyes had to blast some fool looking to achieve a quick promotion or kick a persistent sycophant into the river. That last one was her favorite, nothing felt quite as good as watching their pleading faces melt in the acidic city runoff. She smiled at the memory but her expression quickly darkened. If she didn't come up with a plan to save her Kabal it could very well be her dissolving into the city's sewers next.

Eventually the sparse passageways began to get more crowded and Erinyes had to keep her wits about her. A few dozen Eldar roaming the streets turned into hundreds. Patrons, street peddlers, beggars, gangs, and enslaved errand-goers thronged the Corespur roads, corralled on all sides by more or less legitimate business fronts, each with a small retinue of warriors positioned to keep the chaos at bay. Most stayed out of her way, though a few unfortunates were thrown into her path by opportunistic thugs looking for a good laugh. It wasn't every day that an Archon went strolling alone in the streets of the lower city and the chance for violence was something to be savored.

A couple mon-keigh slaves were shoved in front of her and she nearly tripped. Their skinny arms and legs flailed helplessly as they clamored to escape from underfoot. Erinyes wasted no time gunning them down in a spectacle of blaster fire. The bodies of humans made such delightful popping sounds when hit with a darklight beam, a fitting punishment for transgressing so egregiously. As she moved closer to home though another creature pressed her from behind. The Archon staggered forward and heard a chuckle from whoever pushed the poor bastard, but the offender's face was lost in the crowds. Brandishing her gun, Erinyes turned around to see what unfortunate now forced her hand. Getting a good look, she paused, finding herself face to face, or rather, face to mask, with a trembling half-bare Eldar. He was clad only in a leather apron and his skin was cut and bruised all over. Cleaned and polished metal tools hung from his waist, each specially designed for a particular method of cutting, scraping, or flaying flesh. Across his face was a steely mask on a hinge, the clasps securing it grafted into his flesh. Archon Irons lowered her weapon to her hip as the Eldar fell to his knees.

"Please, your grace, I meant no harm!" he cried, lying prostrate before her in the street. Dozens of onlookers sneered at the mewling display.

"What's your name, worm," she muttered, pressing the muzzle of her gun against the back of his head.

"Glaucon, my lady, servant of Meliankris of the Didactic Cave."

Erinyes wrinkled her nose and pulled the gun back just a hair. The Didactic Cave was a Haemonculi Coven of some renown in the lower city. They kept few patrons, keeping mostly to themselves, but the few they did have always seemed to have their raids well stocked with constructs that would make even a Succubus pause. Still, she'd never heard of this Meliankris, and the Archon doubted they'd send an army of grotesques after her Kabal for doing away with a single wayward wrack. She placed the gun back against the trembling Eldar's head but stopped short of pulling the trigger. Killing a wrack would be a terrible waste of resources, and she was running low on manpower.

"Glaucon?" she said, her voice lifting a little, "How about we make a deal?"

"M-my lady?" the wrack sputtered, his mask rising to look at her.

Archon Irons stepped back, gun resting evenly on her hip as she allowed the poor wretch some breathing room. He graciously rose to his feet, bewildered at what was going on. Those who stopped to stare frowned a bit, disappointed that the peon wasn't going to end up smeared on the greasy pavement.

"My Kabal suffered a few casualties after my last raid and I am in need of someone familiar with the arts of the Haemonculi," she said. "How about a job?"

"You… mean to steal me away from my master?" The wrack asked, his metal face whipping back and forth as though frightened someone important might overhear.

Archon Irons nodded, "It's either that or I send you back to him in a dustpan."

The wrack's trembling gave way to a nervous chuckle, "I fear you, oh Archon, but not more than my master. You can inflict death, but he knows fates far wors—"

A shot of darklight flashed, the concussion reverberating off the enormous towers that surrounded them. The wrack fell to his knees grasping the stump of his arm in horror.

"How's my counteroffer?" she asked, watching his sticky ichor blood oozing onto the street.

"My hand!" he cried out, holding the clean break with disbelief.

The Archon pulled him up by the edge of his mask, his skin bleeding where the clasps held it, "Right this way, Glaucon."

"I… Master Meliankris is going to wear your skin for a robe," he stammered as he began walking, his voice distant with shock.

"He'll have to take a number," Archon Irons replied, prodding the wrack with her barrel to get him moving. "Besides, he'll kill you first for failing him."

If there was any color left in his ghost-white skin it left at the mention of this. The Haemonculi of the Covens were notoriously fickle and if Archons were considered unforgiving, they could be downright ruthless. For them, imperfect servants could simply be broken down and remade as a Talos or grotesque if their flaws proved troublesome. Realizing the severity of his punishment even if he did escape, Glaucon's dissent turned into bitter mumbling as he plodded down the causeways.

Even though she left early, Erinyes took so long getting back that the Kabal of the Iron Maiden was already assembled by the time she arrived. A small retinue of warriors lined the ancient stone walkway leading to the tiny portion of the Gypsy Road tower she called her lair. The archway overtop spelled out her Kabal name in twisted metal; the only signifier that this was not simply another hole in the wall for Hellion gangs to crawl into. Glaucon scoffed under his mask, his breath ripping through the vents. Seeing her home again now after mingling in the opulence of the upper portion of Corespur, Erinyes didn't feel much like correcting him.

The warriors peeled off and followed their master inside, taking their place further in as the Archon led their newest member into the armory. Weapon racks lined the walls, each only partially filled with splinter rifles that bore the scars of heavy use. Lingering in the far corner, its massive body only just missing the cathedral ceiling, was her prized Talos. The beast still carried the scars of the previous battle with its festering wounds now scabbed over by corrosive blood. Upon seeing the monster, Glaucon rushed forward to inspect the Talos, ignoring for the moment his still bleeding stump.

"Amazing!" he said, poking one of its chain flails, "A fully operational Talos, and with a twin-linked liquifier!" Archon Irons watched with a smile as he inspected her pet, eyeing it over as another Eldar might look over a brand new Raider. "Look at the gauging on these hoses, I bet this thing can dispense five gallons a second! And adamantium-braided ichor lines, you can't even _buy_ these off the shelf. And what's this," he pointed at the spinal column running under the Talos' massive armored carapace, "Is that wraithbone?"

"Only on the exposed portion, to prevent corrosion. Under the hood it's just—"

"IT IS WRAITHBONE!" he cried, gently massaging the pasty white material.

Archon Irons slapped a hand on Glaucon's shoulder so hard his knees buckled, "Welcome to the Iron Maiden's Haemonculus Glaucon," she said.

"This—wait, Haemonculus!?" Glaucon sputtered.

"We don't patronize any Coven's yet, so it looks like you're the new sawbones," she said. "Congratulations on the promotion, at this rate you'll be cobbling trueborn back to life in the inner circle in no time."

Glaucon's vented mask stared at her for a second before he turned back to the Talos. He shook his head in disbelief, though at his fortune or her incredible presumptuousness she couldn't tell. It didn't matter though, what did matter was that she didn't have to pay a Haemonculus to patch up her Talos this time around.

"I see you've taken a shining to Eddie. He'll be your first patient," she said. The Talos gave a low moan and Erinyes patted its metallic face. "Get him back into fighting shape and we can talk later about setting you up with proper facilities."

"It… it would be a privilege to work on this, my Archon!" he replied, saluting with his stump and spraying her with blood and pus, completely oblivious to his lack of a hand.

Archon Irons wiped some of the spray from her face, "Yes, um, you might want to see about fixing that first."

"Oh, uh, yes, ma'am," he replied, reexamining his wound as though he'd completely forgotten about how he'd been roped into this job in the first place.

Seeing that the wrack, or rather, "Haemonculus" was settled, Erinyes proceeded to her main chamber, leaving him shuffling about the armory to begin his work under the watchful eyes of her guards. The inner portion of the Iron Maiden's lair was more like a crossroads than a proper throne room, with hallways at four ends of a circular chamber. In the middle was a holofield for going over raid strategies before a small dias, on which was what passed for her throne. Erinyes was never fond of showy decorations, though how much of that was her own austere upbringing and how much was the fox and the grapes she wasn't sure. Anymore it seemed like a little of both. To the left was an interior path to upper portions of the tower, no doubt the way most of her Kabal took when returning from the docks. To the right, her troops' quarters opening up like a hotel hallway. And behind, her personal quarters. Although she ran a loose ship by the standards of most Kabals, no one entered that room without her permission. At least, none who lived to tell of it. Erinyes dismissed the few warriors lingering about and walked inside. The ancient metal door closed behind her, the smooth clinking of a dozen metal locks signifying that the mistress was in for the night.

The central chamber was filled with warriors, each slinging their weapons around or leaning on the walls, impatiently eyeing each other over. They'd been standing there for hours waiting for their Archon to emerge from her quarters but not a one among them dared to interrupt her. Glaucon lingered towards the back, his hand replaced temporarily with a simple meat hook and lots of bandages. Many were curious as to who this newcomer was, but considering how cozy he'd become with the Talos, they were willing to wait for the Archon's word before executing him for trespassing. Also out of place was Kylendris, their pilot. His reflective helmet was still firmly in place and it appeared his flight suit's cuffs were now lined with a curious checkered pattern.

All heads turned as the metal door to the Archon's chambers clicked and every warrior snapped to attention. Smoothly it opened, revealing their Lady in her court's regalia. It was a stripped down version of her armor consisting only over her boots, bracers, breastplate, and pauldrons. Her midriff and legs were left open for ease of movement and to show off her fine pale skin. Around her waist she'd tied a rich purple skirt that billowed as she strolled forward. Although her face was as fresh and young as a teenager's, radiating the beauty she'd acquired through inflicting so much pain the evening prior, her eyes held the weight of a soul years beyond even her centuries-long lifespan. Taking a seat on her bare throne, the Archon gestured for her minions to relax.

Taking stock of those standing in the room, it was all too clear their next raid could be their last. Barely enough warriors remained to fill two Raiders, and she had only one Sybarite amongst them. Scanning the room again she realized he wasn't even present, perhaps by the end of the day she wouldn't have any. As her eyes traced the line of warriors, Erinyes furrowed her brows when she got to Kylendris. His clown obsession was beginning to get out of hand. Finally, she turned to her new Haemonculus and gave an approving nod, happy to see he hadn't been gutted by a paranoid guard. Satisfied that her most loyal minions were present, she rose from her seat to address her meager audience.

"My treasured Kabal," she said, purring with an uplifted voice she didn't really feel, "it is good to see you all gathered here after such a delightful raid."

Though none of them dared to speak out, the room collectively moaned. Archon Irons sat forward in her throne an idly reached for her blaster sitting by the armrest. Instantly her Kabal became dead silent.

"That's better," she added. "Now, can anyone tell me where Sybarite Caerdarith is?"

One of her warriors stepped forward with a salute, "My Archon, I saw him as I left the docks, but did not see him return."

"Could he still be there?"

"It… is possible, ma'am."

Erinyes nodded and the warrior stepped back in line. "It will not do to discuss our raid while my only remaining Sybarite is missing. Speaking of which, I take it not everyone here was pleased with the results?" she asked, placing the blaster's muzzle on the ground and resting both hands on the stock. The room was quiet but she could see the uneasy glances from her minions to one another. More than a few pale brows deepened with worry, eager to say something but terrified of the consequences. She raised a finger and pointed at one of her warriors, "Do you have something you would like to share?"

The warrior nearly jumped out of his armor, "N-no, my Archon!"

"Nothing? Anybody?"

More looks were exchanged but no one came forward. Erinyes shook her head slightly, her ghost-white hair shimmering in the faint glow of the wall lamps, "Alright, without being facetious this time, I share your concerns. The last raid cost us in both equipment and men, which is why I have been recruiting." The Archon motioned to wrack standing in the corner, "May I introduce our newest member, Glaucon."

The disheveled Eldar raised his hook-hand in nervous greeting. The rest of the Kabal only glanced at him, unsure how to respond. One wrack was not enough to replace all the warriors lost on their last expedition, especially not two Sybarites, and recruiting for a dying Kabal would be difficult without resorting to outcasts. The Archon knew this, but as the weary eyes of her warriors sank to the floor it became apparent her minions were all aware as well. She could still see the cracked lines of pain-starved faces amongst their ranks, hungry for anguish even after having consumed the souls she'd given them. They bore expressions rarely found amongst the Dark Eldar; doubt and worry.

Erinyes felt her face tighten as she stared out beyond her assembly. She wondered, did other Archons ever feel beholden to their Kabals? Or did they exist only to serve their own lofty self interest? With a mere few dozen warriors, the lines of authority seemed to blur even in her own mind. She wasn't a real Archon, she commanded no authority over those she saw here. Any of her warriors could have walked out knowing full well she'd have neither the resources nor the skills to hunt them down. Like Caerdarith, they'd simply be missing with some vague threat hanging over their disappearance. The only thing that kept those she saw before her coming back was her comparatively mild treatment and the certain knowledge they couldn't find a better gig anywhere else.

Leaning forward on her weapon, the Archon took a deep breath. Before she could speak though a loud knock resounded on the large metal door to her right; the passage to the upper levels of the tower. With a quick nod she directed one of her warriors to open it, taking a firm grip on her weapon as the metal latch was thrown back. In from the dark passage, half-naked and thoroughly beaten, an Eldar shuffled forward. His swollen face was barely recognizable as her missing Sybarite, Caerdarith.

A swift murmur spread through the room as Erinyes stood up, the beaten warrior falling to his knees in reverence as much as exhaustion. "Caerdarith, what is the meaning of this?" she asked firmly.

"My Archon," he said, blood oozing from his mouth, "Lord Salendrid sends me… with a message…" The Sybarite's breathing was labored from several broken ribs and one of his arms stuck out at a sickening angle.

Archon Irons held her composure, her weapon firmly in hand, "And what message is that?"

Caerdarith gave the other warriors an uneasy look before returning his gaze to the stone floor, "His grace has seen your tribute fight in the Wych arenas. He has declared it… _inadequate._ "

"He declared WHAT!?" Erinyes threw her arm back in disgust, sending her violet skirt rippling through the still air.

"My mistress," he sputtered, "Salendrid requires… _demands_ a more fitting tribute. He says if you cannot furnish more entertaining slaves he will take them from you himself!"

Archon Irons looked over her trembling lackey. His body was thoroughly mutilated by the tell-tale cuts of Wych-blades. Clearly, Salendrid meant for her to send whatever men she had left to supplicate his disdain. As she raised her eyes she saw the nervous looks on her warrior's faces, the same look Nisgarien had. If they didn't die by Salendrid's treachery they'd die by forcing her hand, and more losses now meant her Kabal would evaporate before her very eyes.

"After all we lost during his raid, he expects me to send what precious few warriors we have left to die in his damned arenas!?" she growled, her fist curling around the pistol-grip of her blaster.

Her Sybarite looked up with pleading eyes, his arm gripping his sides in pain, "Please, mistress, I was only relaying the message!"

Erinyes looked down on his wretched form with what could almost be called pity, "And that you did, Caerdarith. May the suffering you endured be a reminder not to bow down before those who would insult our Kabal."

"You… are going to spare me?"

Archon Irons ran her finger over the trigger, letting the delicious fear he exuded run through her while contemplating her next course of action. "Yes, Caerdarith. Even as broken and obsequious as you are, you're still more valuable to me alive than dead. Salendrid is the one who did this to you, Salendrid is the one who insulted my— _our_ Kabal, and Salendrid is the one who shall be made to pay."

The chamber stirred with anxiety as the warriors muttered back and forth. "What do you plan to do, my Archon?" one asked, his nerves steeled by her fixation on their common enemy.

The Archon raised her weapon, resting it against her shoulder, "If our supposed master wishes for a fitting battle then I shall grant his wish, personally."

"Mistress," another warrior interjected, "These arena matches, you know they are fixed, right? I mean, you cannot possibly mean to—"

"I mean to enter that arena and tear apart the finest tributes those other pissant Kabals have to offer. I will show them what it means to be an Iron Maiden."

"But my Archon, you could be killed!"

"Could be" she said, looking at her gun. "Probably will be, but I would rather die than live with this indignity any longer." She secured her weapon to her back and brushed off her armor, "I've been complacent with these lap dogs we call our rivals for too long."

Kylendris came forward, his short stature exaggerated by her raised dais, "Then what happens to our Kabal?"

"I suppose you'll all be unemployed," she replied, gazing over her warriors. "That is, unless someone else wants to step up to the plate and take over."

The eyes of her warriors grew wide at such a bold and open invitation, but the pilot merely hung his head. Even with his helmet on it was clear he was upset by this. Erinyes knew he'd chosen her Kabal simply because she was the only one who would put up with his eccentric personality.

"Think of it this way," she said. "It's a chance for you to try and find those clowns you're always going on about."

He gave a slight nod and backed away from her, rejoining the gaggle of warriors now furiously exchanging mutinous whispers. Seeing that they were all thoroughly engaged with deciding who would take her place, she exited the chamber without another word, beginning the long trek up the Gypsy Road tower.


	3. For Whom The Bell Tolls

The Iron Maidens stood in their Archon's throne room with their jaws collectively on the floor. They now found themselves rather unceremoniously without a leader. No sooner had the metal door to the Gypsy Road tower slammed shut than the strongest among them began falling on top of each other for a chance to rule. A handful of pretenders laid clawed gauntlets on the empty throne's silver arms with the usual pomp and venom such proceedings demanded. The rest hung in the back, pointing or tilting their heads in the direction of possible winners without laying their allegiance too soon. Caerdarith nursed his innumerable wounds as he leaned against the central dais, his rank meaningless in the present state of affairs. In a few minutes this room would turn into a bloodbath and everyone knew it.

Kylendris looked around, dumbstruck at losing his Archon. Although his expression was unreadable under his flight helmet it was obvious he wanted no part of this carnivorous scramble for power. Most of these warriors were here because the Iron Maidens were the only ones who would take them in. It was this or poverty, though recently there was a scant difference between the two. He on the other hand came from a wealthy family and, as a skilled pilot, could more or less choose his master. His jetfighter was his own, he owned his own dock, and he could enlist with any Kabal in Corespur, maybe even the Inner Circle. But he liked Archon Irons, she put up with his admittedly eccentric behavior like no one else, even if she was barbaric and patronizing sometimes. Quietly, Kylendris backed out of the throne room, his absence going unnoticed by the quarreling Dark Eldar warriors.

The bickering behind him grew quieter as he perused the armory. A tenseness fell over the warriors as they gradually staked their camps. The mighty Talos moaned in the corner in anticipation of the pain to be wrought. Kylendris ran his gloved hands over the barrels of worn out splinter rifles and wych blades before coming to an armor cabinet. There were about a dozen of these scattered about and none of the suits inside ever fit him, but he decided to open it up nonetheless. There might be something of worth to be taken away, some memento to remember this short-lived Kabal by before the entire thing was inevitably gutted by scavengers or the Gypsy Road Kabalites. As he flung the doors of the first cabinet open the stench of unwashed armor flooded into the room, the pieces inside still stained with the blood of their former owners.

Quickly shutting it he cast his gaze towards the throne room again. Glaucon, the wrack, stood in the doorway watching him as the warriors lined up in two groups. Apparently the strongest leaders, or at least the loudest, were chosen. There were scarcely more than a dozen soldiers on either side; regardless of who won there wouldn't be a Kabal left. Both sides seemed to realize this as the arguing ignited anew, each one talking about the next steps and their roles in the new Kabal, careful not to draw a rifle or blade lest their "membership" be cut short.

Figuring he'd best be on his way, Kylendris moved to the next cabinet. He swung the doors open but paused at what he saw. Inside was more old armor, but these suits seemed heavier, thicker. Enormous kite-like backpacks hung on their shoulders with turbines at the peaks, like the half-folded wings of bats. The pilot stepped back to look over this find. "Hey," he called out, not taking his eyes off the armor.

None of the warriors responded. Glaucon stepped inside the armory to get a better look and glanced over his shoulder at the Kabalites in the other room.

"HEY!" Kylendris shouted again.

A few of the warriors popped their heads out, "What do you want, you little maggot?"

"Think any of these might fit?"

* * *

Even taking the shorter route up through the center of the tower, it was still a couple hours of walking before Erinyes reached the upper levels of the Gypsy Road spire. From the moment she stepped foot out of her Kabal's level she found herself being escorted by an entourage of purple armored warriors. None of them dared so much as get close let alone corral her while she carried her weapon, but they didn't need to. The Archon knew where she was going. The passersby, mostly courtesans and those of other, rival Gypsy Road sponsored Kabals gave her withering looks as she passed, as though knowing instinctively she was not welcome so far up the tower. As the group of warriors grew behind her the scowls gave way to sneers of malevolent mockery. This wasn't some upstart who needed to learn her place, it was a foolish prisoner on her way to her execution.

As the Archon approached the top of the spire she broke off down a separate path as wide as a dual carriageway, leading to one of a handful of wych arenas that Salendrid sponsored. His pyramid scheme with the lesser Kabals made him wealthy beyond the means of most in Corespur and it seemed only a matter of time before he would move to the Inner Circle of Commorragh. The lights from the Cult of Claws glimmered off the rising stonework, giving her a clue where to find Salendrid. This particular Cult he patronized was no doubt his favorite and it received the lion's share of all his endorsements. With the roaring crowd just on the horizon, she wondered for a moment what became of her contribution.

By the time Archon Irons reached the arena gates a full retinue of Gypsy Road warriors was at her back, each of them giving her a devilish look as if daring her to turn away. The wyches by the gates stood firm, their hands resting on the handles of the curved blades their Cult was famous for. The Archon nodded her head slightly but they stood firm. Behind her she could hear one of the Kabalites move, his armor clinking as he nodded in affirmation. When the wyches reluctantly stepped aside, Erinyes' blood boiled in her veins. Was this truly her lot? To be considered by outsiders as even lower than a Kabalite warrior? She slouched forward in her pauldrons, tucking her head between the pointed metal slabs as if getting ready to charge the next unfortunate who wandered into her path.

The hall inside curved right to lead guests up to the massive seating levels above, but it was here the Archon broke from her retinue. Walking towards a thick guillotine door, she punched her hand against a touchplate on the wall. The slab of jagged metal flew open, exposing the entire hallway to the caustic smell of the recently hauled Plague Marines. The Kabalites of the Gypsy Road watched her with weapons raised, stepping away as if mere proximity would drag them down to the pit as well. Erinyes stepped inside and drew her blaster as the door clanged shut.

* * *

Several of the Iron Maidens now gathered in the armory, the throne room quickly turning into a pitched battle between the two would-be Archons. Glaucon walked behind Kylendris, stroking his chin under his iron mask as he looked over the archaic find. One of the warriors pulled a suit out of the cabinet and nearly fell over from the weight. The armor was massive by Dark Eldar standards, thick and cumbersome. The jagged, overlapping plates matched the older style of armor Archon Irons furnished them with but it looked more suited for assault tactics than hanging off a Raider.

"What do you expect us to do with this garbage?" the warrior asked, placing the armor on the ground. Its plates were so rigid it could practically stand on its own.

Kylendris pulled out the backpack and, with some effort, strapped it to the suit. In spite of its age the armor fit together like a puzzle made of fine crystal. "I have an idea," he said. Pulling one of the large shardcarbines off the rack, he placed it with the armor, its gauntlet locking to the weapon. "With these suits and my fighter, we can save our Archon."

One of the warriors smacked him upside the head, "Save her!? She's gone on a suicide mission, that's her business."

"I'm not getting myself killed for some do-nothing halfborn bitch," another added.

Straightening his flight helmet, Kylendris replied, "And just how long do you think this place will last without her?" He pointed to the two squabbling warriors in the other room, their supporters reduced to a mere squad each now, "Those two are going to have us killing each other, and whatever's left will be mopped up by the Gypsy Road, Hellions, or worse."

"What do you care?" a rather bulky looking warrior asked, stepping from behind the hollow armor. "I know you own that Razorwing. And you're a trueborn. I bet you have more than enough souls to buy your way into half the Kabals in Corespur."

Kylendris took a step back from the warrior. "If it was that simple do you really think I'd be here?" he bluffed.

"The pilot has a point," Glaucon interrupted, his metallic voice resonating off the walls. "Whether he sticks around or not, if Archon Irons is on the chopping block, the Gypsy Road will likely have your Kabal purged."

"And how is that any different than dying while trying to fight our way into a Wych Cult arena?"

Kylendris slapped the hollow armor on its tarnished chestplate, "That's what I was going to explain. We wouldn't have to fight."

The gathered warriors looked at each other, then back to the pilot.

"All we need to do is get in, rescue Archon Irons, and get out. These jump packs might let us do that."

A warrior narrowed his eyes and stared at the diminutive Eldar, "And how are we going to avoid getting shot to pieces by their defenses? Even if we don't have to fight our way through we're going to be in the middle of a damned gladiatorial pit."

Kylendris straightened up, "That's my job. I'll give the Scourges cover with a strafing run. Missile payloads, dark lances, the whole package. Knowing the upper crust of Corespur there'll probably be a dozen assassination attempts taking place amongst the audience before the dust even settles, giving them a chance to sneak the Archon out."

Glaucon shook his metal claw dismissively, "Aside from trusting you to not abandon us to our fate, that still sounds risky. You might hit the Archon in the process."

"Well…" he said, bowing his head in thought, "I could take one of the Raiders. It'd give us less cover but it'd be easier to zoom in, pick her up, and get away."

The throne room erupted into splinterfire as the two contending upstarts began firing wildly. A dozen warriors showered each other in a hail of crystal shards, their rounds shattering off the stone walls. Glaucon ran for cover behind the armor rack as the warriors ducked jumped out of the way of the open door. The imposing warrior grabbed one of the large weapons beside the Scourge battlesuits and flicked the switch on its side. Almost instantly the tip of the heat lance glowed white hot as he aimed at one of the contenders in the other room, the unwieldy gun being supported by his hip. With a loud screech a beam of searing melta shot out, boring through the armor of a warrior in throne room as though it were tissue paper. As the unfortunate Eldar fell from the blast his body was shorn clean in two.

The throne room fell silent, the remaining warriors inside terrified of what was now apparently their new Sybarite. As he cut power to the heat lance the large warrior looked over at the armor still standing beside him. Fragments of crystal littered the floor around it, the plates glowing with a faint ghostly shell of energy. Lifting the enormous weapon over his shoulder he said, "These suits got any more toys like this? I feel a wych hunt coming on."

* * *

Erinyes stood before the gates of the arena, watching the fight that was going on before the hungry crowd. A Chaos Champion was being torn apart by a Hekatrix's agonizer, his power armor useless against the poisoned lash as it slipped effortlessly between his plates. The crowd howled and cackled with every blow, the Hekatrix making sure not to inflict too much damage before the audience had a chance to enjoy the display. Sadly, these devotees of Nurgle were immune to pain and their anger was difficult to rile. The corrupted mon-keigh merely plodded relentlessly forward, his lightning claws too slow to find their mark against the nimble gladiator.

Frustrated with the lack of a response from her foe, the Hekatrix whipped her agonizer around the beast's head and gave a hard pull. It severed clean off, the foul blood spilling onto the stone floor like a pool of acid. Strutting off the arena in disgust, she left the corpse to fester for a few moments. Erinyes looked back at four hardy and thoroughly whipped human slaves, the ones tasked with removing the body. They cowered behind her, unsure what this outsider was doing between them and their task. As the gate rose so that they might haul the carcass off, Erinyes marched out to meet her audience.

Murmurs swarmed through the crowd as she stepped forward. The Succubus of the Cult of Claws, Lady Arataire, sat poised on a large overhang with several of her Bloodbrides and Archon Salendrid at her side. The four slaves hung back inside the lower levels of the arena, not daring to go out lest they get caught up in whatever political machinations were unfolding. Erinyes stopped at the Chaos Champion's corpse, its massive armored husk burbling on the ground. It was the one her Talos captured for her, a proper contribution if she'd ever seen one, if a little war-torn. She looked up to the eaves of the arena and caught Salendrid's eye.

The Gypsy Road Archon rose to address the audience, his voice magnified by the dimensional distortions of the arena's construction. "Archon Irons, when I asked you for a fitting specimen, this is hardly what I imagined."

Erinyes stood on the bloated mon-keigh's chestpiece and raised her blaster high in the air, "Salendird! You dare insult my Kabal by calling my gift unworthy? Send me your worst! Let me see what these sycophants you call Kabalites have produced!"

A rumble echoed off the arena walls as insulted pride and hissing curses were spat to and fro. Who was this lower level halfborn to question their merit? Dozens of calls were hurled across the arena for the Archon and Succubus to unleash their contributions to the night's pain feast. Salendrid raised his hand to silence the ravenous audience.

"My Lady Irons," he said calmly, "If you truly wish for death, it would be a privilege for me to pass the sentence firsthand." He turned to the Succubus of the Cult of Claws, "With your permission…"

Although Erinyes had never personally seen Lady Arataire fight, she knew the reputation of her Cult. Her outfit was adorned with the hides of feral animals, their furs and skins patterned over her wych suit like tribal leather. The Succubus nodded slowly to her patron and Salendrid grinned, "Then without further ado, release the beasts!"

* * *

For as old as the Scourge armor was it fit together perfectly. Five of the heftiest warriors left in the Kabal were fitted with the plates, each with their own specialized weapons. Kylendris regretted not being able to fit in one himself, his stature bringing him only up to the shoulder of their flight packs. With their weapons locked in place and flight controls securely connected, the Iron Maiden's new Sybarite addressed his men.

"Alright, this is only a rescue mission so we're going to keep this short and sweet. You four will follow me around the outside to the base of the spire," he said, gesturing to the other Scourges in the room. "Warriors, you're going to escort Kylendris to the docks, take whatever isn't nailed down, and high-tail it to the arena."

Kylendris straightened up and saluted, genuinely excited that this new leader was on board with his idea. The other warriors merely looked at one another, the ruby red glare of their lenses no doubt a reflection of their dubious expressions.

"And what of me?" Glaucon asked, stepping forward from amongst the weapon racks.

The Sybarite shrugged, "Honestly, kid, I have no idea who you are, but if the Archon handpicked you then she probably wants you alive. You stay with the warriors and get to the docks."

"And the Talos?"

The Sybarite paused as he looked over the monstrosity hovering in the corner of their armory. Its masked head tilted slightly in his direction as he walked towards it, "It's going to have to stay here."

The Talos groaned in frustration. Even with its dim awareness it still seemed to realize that its precious Archon was in trouble, if such machines could even feel attachment.

"That seems a terrible waste," Glaucon said.

"It's too big, we can't carry this thing on a Raider," the Sybarite replied, gesturing to its massive carapace. The wrack knew he was right, Talos were meant for grinding down attackers, not sneaking or hit and run assaults.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Auroq?" came a voice from the other room.

The Sybarite walked into the throne room where Caerdarith sat, his wounds slowly getting the better of him. Pulling a splinter pistol off a rack, Auroq threw it down to the wounded Eldar he now replaced. "Your choice how you wanna use that," he said.

"You… won't even give me the dignity of a clean death," Caerdarith replied, chuckling as he grabbed the worn pistol from his lap.

"Mercy's the Archon's business," he said, checking the heat lance clasped to his gauntlet one last time, "And business is pretty good, cause we're about to go risk our lives for her. But you already got yours."

"Fair enough…" Caerdarith said, his voice trailing off from the blood loss.

The Sybarite turned back to the armory when the burst of splinter shots caught everyone's attention. The Sybarite wheeled around, crystals shattering against his plate armor, and fired his weapon. The melta stream ignited his former comrade, slicing him into charred bits of meat. The pistol fell from his hand as he was killed in an instant, the scorched floor of the throne room sizzling behind his corpse.

"Now then," the Sybarite said, turning to the waiting Kabal, "If no one has anything else to add, let's get moving."

More than a dozen nodding heads met him as he strolled towards the exit to begin the perilous ascent.

* * *

Erinyes readied her blaster as the gate behind her slowly opened. The four slaves watching from the door ran out into the arena, covered in fresh claw marks and screaming in terror. The Archon didn't bother with them, instead focusing hard on the dark opening. Her gauntlet clenched the worn pistol grip on her gun, anticipating the foes to be unleashed. Would it be warp beasts? Kroot? She heard a wet shuffling over the growl of the crowd and raised her weapon for a proper shot. As she stared down the iron sights she met the gaze of two dozen yellow eyes.

A foetid mass of plagued flesh ran towards her, their many arms grasping at the air. The debris of their tattered armor still clung to their bodies. At one point they might have been aliens but now they were nothing but a host to Nurgle's taint. Erinyes pulled the trigger, the darklight beam shattering the head of the first one to step into the arena. Vile blood and pus spewed out onto the floor, sizzling like the acidic marine's she stood on. This only wetted the appetite of the corrupted aliens as they ran headlong towards her.

The Archon fired again. *BLAM* Another zombie fell, its body cut in two by the powerful beam. As she took aim the monsters reached the marine's carcass, climbing on top with the agility of the apes that bore them. Erinyes jumped off, landing on the ground and firing another shot as the plague zombies mounted the hulking chestplate. Two of the fastest leapt after her, their jaws fully dislocated and open to an unnatural degree, displaying their dripping teeth. The first was blown apart but the second wrapped its huge, slobbering maw around her armored wrist. Erinyes felt the bile seep through down to her skin, burning and bubbling under the metal as it dripped.

Reeling in pain and disgust, Archon Irons gave the monster a hard blow to the head with the butt of her gun. Half a dozen more charged, tripping over each other for a taste of her succulent, untainted flesh. Seeing this mob coming at her, she ran, bolting down the arena like her life depended on it. She was as fleet as any Eldar but these creatures were relentless, dogging her every step. The audience above cackled as she struggled to put some distance between herself and the slavering beasts. One of the zombies grabbed her flowing purple skirt and pulled it taut, the Archon freezing in place at the tell-tale sound of ripping fabric. Cacophonic laugher spilled from the crowd as the frayed end wafted down to her boots.

The rush of the plague zombies was unimpeded, their plodding feet thumping against the arena floor. Expression darkening, the Archon grabbed an orb resting on her belt and flipped its metal cover, revealing a tiny button. As the swarm overcame her she tapped it with her thumb and the device emitted a tiny, high-pitched beep. Living corpses grabbed at her armor plates, sinking their clawed fingers into the exposed flesh on her arm and midriff. Spinning around she punched one of the creatures in the stomach, her spiked fist easily crushing its rotted meat, reaching up into its chest cavity. Letting go of the grenade she pulled her arm out and kicked the beast in the chest, sending it toppling backwards into its companions.

Erinyes hit the ground just as the grenade went off, plasma showering the arena in liquified flesh and sinew. That which wasn't torn to shreds rose in a thick, smoky haze, the remains simmering on the ground. Archon Irons rose to her feet, checked her blaster, and frowned at the torn skirt dangling around her calves. Furious boos and sneers drowned the arena floor as Salendrid rose to speak.

"It seems you have made your point, _Archon_ ," he said, relishing the last word as if he was indulging a child.

"Is this the best your pets can offer, Salendrid?" Archon Irons bellowed, her words quickly drowned by numerous calls for her death.

The Gypsy Road Archon raised his hand for silence, his expression suggesting he had plenty more where that came from. Lady Arataire caught his ear and he leaned back. As she whispered, a look of disappointment flashed across his face before a turning to smug appreciation. Stepping forward he said, "It seems the Lady of the arena wishes for you to face one of her own, Archon Irons. Seeing as how you have so unceremoniously contaminated her pit, I must say I approve."

"She has lips," Erinyes replied, reaching into her hip pouch for a cigarette, "Why doesn't she tell me herself?"

Salendrid recoiled at the insinuation. Lady Arataire looked furious, her hands clenching around her impaler until her knuckles turned white. Archon Irons flicked her metal fingers, the spark lighting her grave lotus as she waited for them to make up their minds. From behind the Succubus, a tall figure stepped forward.

"I shall fight, my Lady," it said. The voice was metallic and unnatural, like a wrack's, and Erinyes couldn't identify it.

"Very well," the Succubus replied, slightly waving her hand forward.

Erinyes took a puff as the figure stepped forward into the lighted staging area. The crowd immediately went into a frenzy of thrilled shrieks as the… thing emerged. It was a wych, but not one like Erinyes had ever seen. She was as tall as an Incubus and just as strong, her wych suit plates each as heavy as a warrior's yet still looking thin and nimble on her form. Every exposed muscle was taught with the rope-cord strength the wyches were known for, though there was no doubt she was flexible as well. Both her hands were engulfed in striking crystalline gauntlets that extended a full foot beyond her normal reach. Tubes connected her vented facemask to multicolored vials of combat drugs arranged across her backplate so she looked almost like a Grotesque.

Archon Irons took a long, heavy draw from her fag as the gladiator approached the edge of the overhang. Even Lady Arataire had to reach up to place her hand on the wych's shoulder, "Syren Chariath, finest of my bloodbrides, I give you the pleasure of flaying this upstart."

The Syren stared down at the Archon, her dull brown eyes displaying no more emotion than Erinyes' pet Talos, "It will be an honor."


	4. Take It On The Run

Kylendris walked down the Gypsy Road docks alone, making his way towards his Razorwing Jetfighter. The Kabals that pledged their dubious loyalty to Salendrid each had their own designated section to land their aircraft, the Iron Maidens included, but Kyle kept his own hanger just in case. He'd learned in the past that trusting a smaller Kabal to keep their hands off his fancy toys was too much to ask for, but Salendrid? He had a reputation to uphold. No one would do business with an Archon who stole vehicles from his clients' docks, at least not one who did it so out in the open.

The diminutive pilot casually strolled past the various Kabalite flight lines, their Raiders, Venoms, Ravagers, and everything in between being attended to by Gypsy Road slaves. He saw a pair of slight, blue aliens hoisting a new shock prow onto the front of a Raider, their defanged servo-suits doing little to stop the lashes of an electrocorrosive whip held by their master. Further on, a mechanical creation of the foul humans slowly ratcheted a new drive into place, its leash held by a wrack that seemed fascinated with the strange machine-mon-keigh creation, as though it were a primitive reflection of his own master's dark science.

Towards the end of the line, one row down from his own hanger, sat the Iron Maiden's dock. A squad of purple armored warriors stood around it looking particularly bored. The Raiders themselves sported new engines, the old ones having been nearly blown apart in the last assault, but it looked like repairs on the armor plates stopped in the middle of the job. Darklight welders and pieces of hardware were strewn about as if abandoned on a moment's notice.

One of the warriors casually pointed the bayonet of his rifle at the curious pilot, "What're you looking at?"

Kylendris thumbed towards his own hanger further down, "I need a hand changing my missile payload."

"What do I look like, a dock worker?"

Kyle looked back and forth across the wide open bay. Dozens of busy workers and slaves in Gypsy Road uniforms shuffled to and fro as far as the eye could see. "Well, yes."

Several of the Kabalites approached him now, their fingers covering the triggers of gleaming splinter rifles. "What did you just say?"

The pilot placed his hand on his mask as if to rub his temples, seeming not to care that his helmet was in the way, "Look, if I don't get these missiles loaded by the next cycle, Salendrid is going to start asking questions-"

One of the warriors placed their bayonet right next to his throat, "That sounds like a personal problem."

Kylendris shrugged, "I'll just point him to you then."

The warrior paused for a moment, then chuckled, "You do that and see how long you live. The Archon does not like excuses."

"I can fly no matter what," he replied. "But next raid, it could be your formation I'm covering, and without those missiles—"

The warrior prodded the small pilot in the chest with his bayonet, forcing Kylendris to back up as the tip broke through his flight suit and pricked his skin, "You are obviously new to the Kabal, so let me make this clear: One more idle threat or clever remark and you'll be riding into battle crucified on our aethersails, understand?"

"Haha! Yes, yes okay!" Kylendris stuttered, backing away with his hands up.

The warrior smiled, the pilot's fear a potent reminder of his control. The Kabalites behind him lowered their brandished weapons slightly. "Good," he said. "Now get out of my sight."

Kyle hurried away towards his dock, still facing the warriors lest they shoot him while his back was turned. "Just… thought I'd ask…" he said under his breath.

As soon as he left their vicinity the warriors resumed the drudgery of staking out the docking platform. Kylendris walked to his hanger and found his jet fueled and fully loaded, the missile payload armed with necrotoxin missiles this time. Casually he popped the bubble canopy open and eased himself inside, the electronics lighting up before him like clockwork.

"I tried to do it the easy way…" he muttered, flicking the safety tab up on his flight stick. The missile system activated and locked on to the Iron Maiden's dock several hundred yards away. He looked out across the flight line and saw the distant wave of a metal claw-hand signaling him to go. Kyle took a deep breath and pressed the button.

With a high pitched shriek a missile flew across the flight line and slammed into the dock by the Iron Maiden's aircraft. The handful of Gypsy Road warriors staggered away, screaming in horror as their insides were turned to pulp by the insidious poisons. Toxic crystal shards littered the dock but the ships themselves were unharmed, the missile containing only enough explosives to shatter its fragile payload. Leaping from his jet, Kylendris ran straight for the _Naglfari._ The other Iron Maidens jumped from their hiding places and began firing wildly into the crowd, creating as much confusion as possible to cover their escape. Dozens of slaves and bystanders were cut down by splinterfire before the guards even had a chance to react.

Diving behind some loading equipment, Kylendris narrowly avoided a salvo from a splinter cannon turret high on the spire's wall. He clambered on hands and knees towards the floating Raider just down the platform, his legs kicking up as he tore into a sprint. The Iron Maiden warriors that were giving him cover hustled towards the dock where the unused armor plates offered some relief from the punishing firefight now in full swing. A couple warriors fell to the ground in the exchange, their bodies writhing in pain on the steel floor from the poisonous shards before sprawling out, rigid and motionless.

As he reached the _Naglfari,_ Kyle jumped onto the deck and pulled himself up, his short legs kicking to find some grip on the fresh metal siding. He ran for the controls and flicked on the night shield, the ship instantly becoming cloaked in an inky static. The warriors ran for whatever vehicles they could grab. A couple took the two remaining Reaver bikes left over from the raid while most of the others latched themselves to the Raidercraft. Glaucon clumsily lifted himself onboard as Kyle started up the engines. His metal claw clamped onto the bow gun and he took aim at one of the turrets above. The _Naglfari_ rose into the air, its new engines warming up and not yet broken in. Splinter shards pelted the exterior hull, leaving tiny crystal pockmarks wherever they struck.

Glaucon swung the dark lance around and fired a snap shot at one of the sponsons above, narrowly missing it and obliterating the stonework to its side. With a sputter of flame, both of the Reavers sped off across the docks towards the arena, their riders obviously unaccustomed to their speed. Even with all that was going on, Kylendris found himself watching them with smug satisfaction as the two of them careened back and forth, weaving hard to avoid the myriad obstacles in the Commorragh sky lanes. As the Raider next to him burst to life, he set his hands over the motion controls and launched his own majestic craft forward; it was time to show them how it was done.

* * *

Archon Irons watched as the large Syren leapt from the balcony down to the arena floor. With cat-like grace she landed and pounced, the Archon unable to flinch before the shimmering flash of her hydra gauntlets tore the cigarette from her mouth. She froze, staring at her foe eye to eye. The Syren stood a full head taller than her and waited for a response, her facemask seething with warm breath. Sniffing in disgust, Erinyes raised her blaster.

Chariath swiped at the weapon, her claws glancing off and sending the Archon's shot wide. Darklight shattered one of the slabs around the arena and Erinyes felt herself fly through the air as a blindingly fast second blow smacked her across the side. She hit the arena floor, rolled, and stood to her feet, weapon still brandished as the Syren charged again. As her hydra gauntlet lashed forward Erinyes struck back with the butt of her gun, fracturing one of its crystals and deflecting the blow. Chariath overran her and reeled around, caught slightly off balance by her prey.

Although skilled in close combat, Erinyes preferred not to give the Syren a chance to use those nasty looking claws again. She popped shots off in a steady rhythm, darklight bolts peppering the ground with reverberating cracks as the Syren dodged to and fro, closing the distance. The ferocious wych was right in her face as the Archon fired her last, desperate shot into her impossibly agile foe. Within a hair's breadth the shot went off, the recoil and impact enough to send both of them staggering backwards in a puff of smoke. Archon Irons dropped her weapon, its metal body overheated from the close firing distance. As the air cleared she noticed the Syren scraping her hydra gauntlets clean of their shattered crystals. Having blocked with her weapons both claws were now reduced to mere stubs.

Erinyes placed her hands on her hips, "Hah, not so tough without those, are you?" Then she noticed a seeping wound in her side where her armor didn't cover. The Syren's claws were so fast and sharp they'd managed to cut a gash in her porcelain skin without her even noticing. She pulled her hand away, the crimson running between her fingers and into the cracks of the floor. A snarl crossed her lips as she looked back at her opponent who, aside from her broken claws, seemed completely unharmed. The Syren didn't respond. Instead she nonchalantly inspected her weapons, turned from her combatant, and walked away.

"Don't tell me you're finished already," the Archon said, wiping her bloody hand on her frayed skirt. The Syren merely shrugged as she approached the corpse of the Chaos Champion, prying at its hands. The audience above grew impatient; their thirst for blood would not be sated waiting for something to happen.

"I demand you finish what you started, wych," Erinyes shouted. The pain in her side was finally registering but she wouldn't let it interfere with her bravado.

Chariath removed the lightning claws from the dead mon-keigh's body and shoved her own hands inside, their disproportionate size making her look even more like a grotesque monstrosity from a Haemonculus' laboratory. Securing her new armament, the Syren looked at Erinyes with a chilling expression. Tendrils of electricity sparked from the edges of the long metal talons as they powered up, their razor-sharp edges pulsing in her grip.

Erinyes grabbed her blaster but it was still overheated, the darklight chamber refusing to open. The Syren watched her with predatory sharpness, soaking in the moments of fear and hesitation as her prey slowly realized how helpless they were. Throwing her blaster on her back, Archon Irons prepared for the charge. As large as the hydra gauntlets were, these lightning claws were larger still, sized for a space marine and as long as sabers. She'd be dead before she even had a chance to run.

"A weapon!" Chariath called out.

The crowd murmured for a second before chuckles and sneers fell upon the arena. Lady Arataire looked down from the balcony to get a better look. "What was that, my Syren?"

Chariath pointed a long claw at the Archon, "My opponent needs a weapon. There is no sport in this."

"This is not about sport, Syren, this is about your Lady's honor!" Salendrid hissed, gripping the edge of the balcony. "Finish this transgressor!"

The Syren looked the Gypsy Road Archon square in the eye, "I would remind you, Archon, you are a guest in this house. I answer only to my Succubus."

Were the eyes of over a thousand eager spectators of Corespur not upon him, Salendrid would surely have leapt into the arena and murdered the Syren for such a remark himself. His face bloomed into rage, but with the practice of a true politician he forced his indignant anger behind poisoned words, "Is this how your handmaidens speak to their patrons? I would expect more courtesy considering I financed the expansion of this arena."

Now it was Lady Arataire who was livid, glaring at the Archon as though he were the one befouling her home. Even though her fate was sealed, Erinyes was quite pleased at the vulgar display of injured pride she'd inspired.

The Succubus turned from the Archon and held her impaler high in the air, addressing the audience. "These are our games, Archon, and this arena our domain. The audience craves blood sport, not the slaughter of chattel." A thousand cheers and nodding heads met her remark, the spectators eager to see what happened next. Catching her eye, the Succubus threw her weapon down to the Archon who caught it in midair. It looked like a power weapon but lacked an energy source. The large trident head gleamed with a pale green hue, its weight hefty but balanced.

Erinyes grinned and the Succubus returned her sadistic smile, "Now, my Syren, finish this interloper!"

The Archon barely had enough time to turn around before the Syren was on her, charging full steam like a bloody-minded ork. Erinyes held her new impaler out to guard herself as the lightning claws struck, the strength of the blow sending her rocketing backwards. She held her footing, pointing the large weapon outwards to keep her foe at bay. The size of the claws made them slightly unwieldy, slowing Chariath just enough to allow the Archon a moment to react before every strike.

A duel that should have been over in seconds was now in a stalemate. Every thrust, cut, parry, block, and dodge left the onlookers at the edge of their seat. Erinyes had the range but the Syren had the speed. Chariath seemed to dance around the arena, jumping from ledges and swinging around spiked chains to lash out at every angle. Erinyes buckled down, waiting for opportunities to strike where her impaler could find a weak point. Both gladiators were marred by a dozen weeping cuts as cries and bet-taking filled the stands.

Eventually Erinyes found a break; the Syren was caught off guard after a near miss with the cumbersome size of the human weapons. She thrust forward, the impaler striking true and puncturing Chariath's leg. With a shout the Syren fell to her knee, hamstrung. Swinging her weapon around, Erinyes pointed the trident at the vulnerable wych, savoring the moment just before the kill. The Syren bled no fear and little pain though, giving the Archon pause. As her eyes narrowed in suspicion she caught what was happening. The vials linked to the back of her wychsuit immediately emptied and Chariath's wound closed with a pus-filled scab.

Erinyes stabbed with all her might but the head of her impaler was caught by the Syren, her palms oozing blood from holding the razor-sharp pikes. The Archon tried to yank the weapon from her grasp but it was too late. With a hulking swing she raised the polearm over her head, bringing the Archon with it, and slammed both of them into the stone floor. Erinyes felt the wind rush from her lungs and started gasping for air as the concussive blow ripped through her armor. Four claws, raked with electricity, rose above her head as the mad-eyed Syren went for the coup-de-grace. The Archon rolled out of the way just in time as the talons sank deep into the floor like it was made of clay.

Chariath pulled her lightning claws from the stone as Erinyes jumped to her feet, running as fast as she could away from the drug-addled Syren. She didn't get but twenty feet before the static charge of electricity sparked against her armor; a near miss. Realizing it was time to do or die, Erinyes gritted her teeth and turned around with a flourish, the impaler held firmly in her left hand and her blaster drawn in her right. The Syren cleaved the trident out of her way just as she pulled the trigger.

Cries and shrieks ripped through the stands as all manner of hell broke loose. The ozone haze of haywire blasts, the cloying scent of melta, and the pinging clatter of splinter fire filled the stands as five silhouettes flew into the arena, their jump packs screaming at full throttle. Two Reavers clumsily laid down fire on the stands as they made a pass, one dropping its caltrop payload over an unsuspecting group of Gypsy Road trueborn in a guard tower. The Syren and the Archon halted their duel as the interruption turned into an all out massacre, with assassinations and centuries of bad blood coming to a head amongst the audience.

Amidst the chaos, two Raiders swarmed over the field, both with a full retinue of warriors aboard, spraying their guns down upon the unguarded audience. Archon Irons' face hardened as she tried to figure out just what was going on. Did her Kabal figure they wanted to kill her themselves? Was this their stupid idea of showing loyalty to Salendrid? Chariath seemed just as perplexed as she did, the Syren somehow managing to escape certain death in their last exchange. One of the Raiders swung low and Erinyes immediately recognized the pilot.

"Get on, my Archon!" Kylendris yelled as he swung the stern around, the ship barely slowing as it circled the two gladiators.

This wasn't the time to ask questions. Erinyes grabbed her chain-belt and latched on to the side of the Raider as it sped off, dragging her away from the arena in the darkened blur of its night shields.

"DAMNABLE WENCH!" came a cry from the stands, followed promptly by an explosion of darklight. Erinyes turned to see Salendrid on the balcony, blaster pistol in hand, standing over the freshly mutilated body of Lady Arataire. Her smoking remains lay tattered on the ground, a massive hole drilled through her from where darklight had struck. The Gypsy Road Archon raised his pistol and began firing wildly at the Iron Maidens, blowing one of the clumsy warrior-riders clean off his Reaver bike with a pot-shot.

Over the noise and confusion a blood curdling scream rolled over the arena. Chariath broke into a full sprint towards the balcony, the drugs pumping her body full of stimulants. Eldar are naturally fleet, but the Syren's charge could only be described as unnatural as she flung herself more than ten feet into the air, slamming both claws into the stonework. The Syren pulled herself up the sheer wall, every muscle in her body tight as a drum. Seeing this, Salendrid shot out one of the stone overhangs, sending an avalanche of broken sculpture towards the hapless gladiator. Chariath jumped down at the last second, dodging the rocks but losing her quarry.

As the disintegrator cannons in the high spires of the arena finally came to bear, the Gypsy Road Archon fled from the stage, his entourage of Incubi filing around him like a protective barrier. One of the Scourges was shot down by the turrets, its thickened armor melting with the superheated plasma. Both Raiders jinked hard, tossing their crew about as their own own cannons fired wildly into the towers. This was when Archon Irons noticed Chariath far below running to the discarded Reaver jetbike.

"Kyle, get us out of here!" she demanded, worry rising as the Syren below kick-started the bike. She was damned persistent.

"I'm trying, my Archon, but these engines are new and-"

"NOW!" She cried, slamming his hand forward on the controls. The Raider lurched ahead, its rear engines whining with the strain.

The _Naglfari_ raced to get away from the arena and the other Iron Maidens weren't far behind. One of the Reavers managed to survive and pulled ahead, its turbo boost sending it catapulting into the horizon. The Scourges with their jump packs began bounding at top speed from the dizzying array of Commorragh architecture that closed around them. Erinyes looked behind her, wind ripping through her hair, and caught a glimpse of what was following them. Dozens of Gypsy Road Ravagers, an entire host of Venoms, Raiders, and jetbikes, and in the distance, the tell-tale echo of sonic booms.

"Kylendris!" she shouted, pulling herself towards the bow gun where Glaucon held on for dear life.

"Working on it!" he replied, throwing his hands across the controls. The Raider took a terrifying dive into the thick lower portion of the city, pulling up just a couple stories above the street below. The anti-grav field blew pedestrians clean off their feet as it launched forward from the pent up grav-energy. A few hapless Eldar were gored on the shock prow as the Iron Maidens tore across the streets, their pursuers nearly leveling an entire city block with overwhelming firepower. Missiles shattered all around, the Razorwings above rocketing past at mind-numbing speeds. Kylendris threw the boat into a wide turn, then sharply back, pointing it directly towards the far end of the district.

By now the Iron Maidens were separated, each trying to lose their pursuers by splitting up. Crisscrossing paths and the ever-present sound of darklight fire kept them from getting lost as they wound in and out of lower Corespur, down alleys and roads they'd patrolled for years. As they broke for the edge of the city, Erinyes noticed the fighting was growing more intense. A handful of the lower Kabals, each one supposedly loyal to Salendrid, apparently figured this was the perfect time to try for a quick upward advancement. Tower batteries and Kabalite warriors opened fire on the distracted Gypsy Road vessels, taking several down as they were caught off guard. Confused and aggravated by numerous enemies, the Gypsy Road formations broke, their ships pummeling any and all aggressors into submission. As the _Naglfari_ slipped deeper into the webway, the Archon grinned.

The escaping Raider slipped down a large, low tunnel, the one they'd used in their previous raid. Then lower. And lower still. The warriors aboard had given up their guns and were now gripping the railings with all their strength. Erinyes called to her pilot, "Bring it up, we're clear of the city."

"I'm trying!" Kylendris shouted, his hand pawing at the motion control.

Archon Irons hoisted herself up the deck, "What the hell is going on!?"

"The engines are overheated, they're not broken in yet!" he said, feathering the throttle, desperately trying to coax a burst of thrust out.

The Archon looked up; the rest of her Kabal was hot on their tail with about a dozen Gypsy Road vessels still in the distance. Across the bow, a series of narrow tunnels through the webway waited to swallow them into some unknown destination. Kyle slammed his fist on the grav-drive and the Raider lurched sideways, its engines cutting out as it jinked into one of the turbulent holes in reality. The skimmer hurtled forward through sheer momentum, every twist and turn through the webway causing the ship to ding and bash against the arterial walls. As they plummeted towards their inevitable demise, the electric smoke of an open gate yawned before them. Erinyes felt the transitional lurch from the webway to realspace take her breath away as the dying Raider punched through a random hole in the fabric of space-time.

As they emerged, the _Naglfari_ ground to a halt, its engines smoking. The still air was wet and rank with years of disuse. Pitch black and cavernous, the area looked like an underground bunker. Mildew crawled up the walls, the air stale and spent, lacking proper oxygen. The remaining Iron Maidens trickled through the hole, each of them scanning their new surroundings for possible danger. Piles of scrap and junk were heaped into enormous mounds lining the walls. Even the webway gate itself was buried under a veritable mountain of broken equipment. As the warriors scrambled to shut it down, Archon Irons smiled. Through the filthy mess and reeking scent of festering rust she could smell the one thing that still brought joy to her heart; the fear of mon-keighs.

* * *

Yes'ruch stared out of the crystal portal, the black metal of her helmet reflected in the perfectly smooth substance. Though their ship held orbit for days already, they were merely another twinkling star amongst the magnificent galactic backdrop to the archaic human scanners. Two ruby eyes stared back at her as she gazed beyond her reflection to the small moon below. The mon-keighs designated it XGN-T34-85, though the locals appeared to refer to it as "Scrapyard". Coincidental, she thought, perhaps even ironic. The moon itself was insignificant compared to the enormous gas giant it orbited, and the human presence below consisted merely of scattered outposts and underground refuse piles.

Her shuriken catapult dangled by her feet, held limply in her hand as she watched with patience the slow turning of the planet below. The other Black Guardians meanwhile checked their weapons and paced across the deck, eagerly waiting for their warlock to return from the council. Most of them were like herself, not professional soldiers but called up to fill the ranks. Some were young enough that this could even be their first mission serving Ulthwé. None of them dared speak with her, and though she knew why, she didn't particularly care about their casual and implied slights. She almost envied them for their ignorance, the anticipation she imagined was something to be savored. None of her squadmates had followed the Path of the Seer before, at least not as deeply as herself. They were all full of excitement, waiting for the warlock to inform them of their mission.

Yes'ruch on the other hand had seen this scenario play out in its many permutations for decades. Every branch, every possible avenue was explored, and almost all of them culminating in a single stable path forward. The Inquisition ship lands, the Guardians slip in, the explosives are planted, the ship's core is overloaded, and the tomb world is disabled before it even has a chance to waken. The ignorant mon-keigh consider it just another equipment malfunction, unaware of the horrors lurking below their very feet. It would run like clockwork, a safe bet for such green troops. Even as she replayed the sequence of events in her mind however, the call of the warp tugged her towards the extreme ends, the rabbit-hole threads of reality branching almost impossibly from one scenario to the next. With a well-trained mind she shut them out, concentrating on the mission before her.

A door opened at the end of the deck and all heads turned. Their warlock, Palmarias, entered with a gallant stride. His black robes shimmered around him, the golden accents trickling up like water to the Eye of Isha emblazoned across his chest. Although his bone white mask was as emotionless as her own, Yes'ruch could sense the vigor in him. He was as enlightened as she was about their coming victory, although for him it meant another accolade. For her it was merely fulfillment of service. Not that she minded serving her people, just the opposite. Yes'ruch took great pride in her new Path.

"Guardians, the hour is upon us," the warlock began, his voice radiating with the psychic emanations of his status. "The mon-keigh craft shall be landing in mere moments. Our synchronicity will allow us to sneak in undetected, plant our explosives, and halt the Necrons before they even awaken."

A dozen nodding heads met him, shuriken catapults raised to the practiced ready position. Yes'ruch stood at attention, her weapon across her chest, waiting for the order to move out.

"The webway gate has been activated and we…" the warlock froze. He raised his hand towards his mask, the psychic energy he radiated turning from enthusiasm to worried confusion. Silent words passed between him and the Warlock Council, their distant aura filling the room. Then Yes'ruch caught a wave of thought, an impression of a sentiment that nearly froze her blood.

" _What do you mean the gate is closed?"_

The other Black Guardians stared at their warlock, curious as to what could be bothering him as Yes'ruch nearly dropped her weapon in shock. Palmarias himself seemed more confounded than upset, apparently unaware of the implications this message held. Images of the future she'd seen dozens of times over and pushed away as utter nonsense suddenly flooded her consciousness. The reaching streams of possibility, the extreme ends of random chance coalesced in her mind towards a singular, almost infinitely implausible outcome.

"Oh Isha…" she murmured, hands shaking, "This is _that_ timeline…"


	5. Invaders

The last Iron Maiden craft exited the webway portal and the warriors immediately set about shutting it down, lest their pursuers find them somehow. Their lack of psychic abilities mixed with the general stress of the situation meant an ad-hoc solution was in order, namely pieces of rebar being repeatedly smacked against the wraithbone structure by several desperate Kabalites. Erinyes dismounted her Raider, its engines cooling after the rather intense break-in run. Although the cavernous ruins were pitch black, she could see through the darkness as well as any of her kind.

"My Archon, we have disabled the gate," her warrior reported, the rebar still in his hand.

Archon Irons turned around to see the portal fractured from their repeated beating just enough to crack a few of the runes. The wraithbone would heal itself of such a trivial injury in a matter of hours, long after the Gypsy Road would have given up searching for them in the never-ending passages of the webway. In spite of its barbarity, the method was effective.

"Good," she replied. "Now that we have some breathing room, how about you explain why my Kabal decided to risk their lives to get me out of that arena."

The warriors glanced at each other uneasily, slowly shifting their gaze over towards their Sybarite. The heavily-armored Eldar strolled forward, the heat lance still clasped to his gauntlet. "Don't look at me," he said nonchalantly. "It was your pilot's idea."

Erinyes' glared up at the stern of the _Naglfari,_ "Kyle!"

"Yes, my Archon!" the pilot replied, peering over the railing.

Archon Irons crossed her arms, both her weapons secured on her backplate, making her look all the more imposing, "Explain your actions. I do not like being indebted to those beneath me."

The pilot wrung his hands as he spoke, "It was a matter of our survival. You run the Kabal, my Archon. Without you, we would have been picked apart!"

"Uh huh."

"You left us to our fates! We had no choice. It was bring you back or be killed by the Gypsy Road, or worse!"

The Archon's brow fell more and more into a cross expression before she finally cracked a smile, "Kylendris, thank the gods you are a pureblood."

"I, uh, what?" he said. The pilot drummed anxiously on the edge of the ship.

"You are a terrible liar." She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling the white strands from her face to get a better look at him, "If you had to survive like the rest of us you would be dead a hundred times over by now."

"I swear, my Archon, I am telling—"

"Relax, Kyle, I am not going to execute you for your loyalty, however misguided it might be." She turned to the rest of the Iron Maidens who were now milling about, inspecting their surroundings and tallying their losses. "What really impresses me is you got everyone else to go along for the ride."

"We are yours to command, my Archon," the Sybarite said.

"Of course you are, Auroq" she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "But that is the question, isn't it? Command you to do what? Does anyone have any idea where we are?"

This question seemed to catch everyone off guard. The warriors looked around as if searching for an answer written on the walls before collectively shrugging. Realizing it was going to be a long day, the Archon reached into the pouch on her hip for a cigarette, only to find she was out. The tell-tale twitch in her eye caused the Kabal to back away slowly, with every warrior suddenly interested in checking their wargear or taking point on the perimeter of the junk heaps.

* * *

The smell of dry rockcrete wafted through the underground hallways of the Imperial base, accompanied by an ever-present thin film of dust on every surface. Caged lights, daisy-chained together with wire held in steel sleeves, cast a surprisingly homey glow all around. Their vague humming melded with the ever present thrum of the air circulators. An Imperial Officer walked through one of these narrow subterranean corridors with hurried steps, the click-clack of his spit-polished boots echoing off the walls. His uniform was well kept and neatly pressed, with an oiled chainsword and meticulously maintained laspistol resting on his belt. He was, every inch, the very image of what an Imperial Lieutenant should look like, a career man through and through. And yet behind his well-shaven face and combed hair was a distinct look of anxiety. His hands clenched absently while he turned down the hall towards his Colonel's office. His brow furrowed with concern. There was something strange going on this morning.

The officer approached the door at the end of the hall, a thick guillotine of solid metal, and held out a hand to knock. He hesitated for a moment, taking a second to think about how all of this felt incredibly odd. Why was he called at such an early hour? It was well before reveille, and certainly if it was an emergency the Colonel would have mentioned such in his summons. But why was he told to report in full uniform? Convincing himself it was probably nothing but a drill or some sort of clerical matter, the officer knocked.

The moment his hand touched metal the door flew up, revealing his Colonel sitting at his desk and looking particularly flustered. Papers were scattered in front of him as a smoking cigar lay in a cracked glass ashtray. Standing before him, dressed in a full greatcoat, was a familiar if unsettling figure. Commissar Jacobson turned to address him, hands still held in mid air, emphasizing some point the disgruntled Colonel clearly wasn't grasping.

"Lieutenant Saunders," the Commissar said meticulously, lowering his arms. "Please, come in."

The Lieutenant walked inside, his hands held at ease even as the sweat began to roll down the back of his neck. The temperature below ground was always cool but right now he felt as though his soles were on fire. The Commissar was a frequent visitor among the ranks of his platoon but it was rare he wished to speak with him personally, and when he did it was never pleasant. The state of the Colonel only added to his suspicion that something was wrong.

The Commissar gestured to the Colonel, his black leather glove flowing over the image of a man who was simultaneously fed up and scared out of his wits. "I was just explaining to Colonel Bradley the state of the situation on XGN-T34-85."

"You haven't explained anything," the Colonel said, his gaze quickly darting away as the Commissar faced him once more, eyes glaring down with the practiced look of an agent of the Prefectus.

"You called me, Colonel?" the Lieutenant asked, staring straight ahead.

"I didn't call—"

Commissar Jacobson threw his hand up, "I may or may not have called you, Lieutenant."

Saunders gave a sideways glance at his commanding officer, who returned his bafflement.

Jacobson paced around the room, his ornate uniform trappings a stark contrast to the spartan furnishings of the underground office. In the corner, the Colonel's secretary watched with rapt attention, her auto-quill sitting idly on her desk as she observed the Commissar strutting about. He flashed her a handsome grin, then turned back to the Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant Victor Saunders of the 4063rd regiment, do you know what I'm holding here?" he said, pulling a piece of folded paper from his coat pocket.

"No, sir," the Lieutenant responded.

"This is your loyalty oath you signed upon enlistment six years ago," he replied. The Commissar pulled a second paper out, "And this is a requisition order you signed for a Munitorum delivery three months ago." He held both papers out at arms' length, "There are no less than three deviances in your signature between these documents."

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow but said nothing as the Commissar stepped closer, drawing his hat down to hide his otherwise piercing eyes. "How do I know you're the _real_ Lieutenant Saunders? How do I know you're _really_ loyal to the Imperium? To the Emperor?"

"Commissar Jacobson, this is getting out of hand!" Colonel Bradley said, standing up from his desk. His uniform was, as usual, completely untucked and out of regulation, with a wife-beater clearly visible under his unbuttoned fatigues. This no doubt was a cause of some worry prior to the Lieutenant's arrival.

"Settle down, Colonel," Jacobson replied. "You never know when some heretical cult might spring up on one of these outer-world yokel planets. It is my duty to ensure compliance."

"Is that what this is about?" He asked, his face turning from frustration to genuine concern.

"…Maybe." The Commissar paced toward the secretary's desk. She sat up in her chair, back straight, with a broad smile on her face as Jacobson placed a hand on the plasteel surface. "Or it could be nothing."

"So why did you call the Lieutenant in here?" the Colonel demanded.

"Who said anything about me calling him in here?" Jacobson replied.

"You did, just a minute ago!"

The Commissar walked toward the Colonel, his stare forcing the potbellied officer back into his seat, "You think you're clever, don't you, Bradley?"

"Yes, uh, no, sir," he stammered.

"Good," he said, turning back to the now thoroughly mystified Lieutenant. "Saunders, I have a special mission for you. This is of the utmost importance, do you understand me? The UTMOST importance. So I need you to listen very closely."

"Yes, sir." the Lieutenant replied, his chin rising in the air a bit.

The Commissar stalked around him, Colonel Bradley stared at him like he was a dead man, and the secretary continued her enamored surveillance of the situation. "In four hours, a transport may or may not be landing at a place that might be designated as landing zone six. If this transport does in fact land it could contain Inquisitorial agents, agents which may or may not need escorting through this junkyard you call a tunnel system. If this transport lands, and if these agents appear, and if they do need an escort, you, Lieutenant, might or might not be the one tasked with escorting them along with, or perhaps not, a detachment of your own trustworthy men. These possible agents who might possibly be escorted might possibly be heading to this very location for an important debriefing with yours truly, a debriefing which I might need time to prepare for. Or not, as the situation may be. If so, I may require you to give the Inquisition the grand tour of the tunnels up to and including any and all possible avenues of travel until such a time as I contact you with further orders. Or not. Any questions?"

Saunders mind swam as his pressed shirt stuck to the skin on his sweating back. Instinctively, he blurted out the only thing he could think of, "Agents?!"

"Who said anything about agents?" Jacobson replied, staring him dead in the eye. After a moment he pulled back, apparently deciding this matter needed at least some clarification. "Agents, perhaps of Ordo Hereticus. The Ecclesiarchy might or might not be worried about heretics among your ranks, which may or may not even exist." He tucked his eyes under his hat once more, taking a step back. "I'm going to level with you gentlemen, these implications have even me on edge. I cannot say anymore than I have—"

"You haven't said anything!" Colonel Bradley said, slamming an aggravated fist against his desk.

"One more outburst like that and I'll…" The Commissar checked a small paper in his breast pocket, "Issue no more than six but no less than two lashings."

"Commissar," the Colonel said carefully, "I know I'm not exactly up on this whole Inquisition business, but it sounds an awful lot like you just said the Ecclesiarchy is sending the Ordo Hereticus to purge our moon base."

"Purge is a strong word, Colonel. They're coming to investigate."

The Colonel Stood up again, his rolling chair slamming into the rockcrete wall behind him, "And does this 'investigating' involve the use of flamers?"

"Maybe," Jacobson said, "And maybe that's why I'm sending the Lieutenant here to 'escort' them with an entire unit of soldiers. And maybe that's why I'm going to stay here and help you get this place straight as an arrow before they arrive."

The Colonel lowered his head. Running fingers through his sparse hair, he nodded.

Commissar Jacobson turned back to the Lieutenant, his expression more sullen than before. For all his ridiculous cock and bull, Saunders appreciated the attempt at keeping the gravity of the situation away from him. The reality was indeed far more serious than either he or Colonel Bradley could have prepared for. Truly, ignorance in such dark times was a blessing. Smiling once more at the secretary, who was now as concerned as everyone else in the room, the Commissar said, "I leave you to your business, gentlemen, I'll be in my office. Colonel, call me when you're through with the Lieutenant."

The Colonel sighed as he walked out, pulling a glass and a bottle of liquor from his desk drawer. Cracking the lid, he stared firmly at the glass and took a long pull straight from the bottle. Slamming it on the desk, he swallowed hard and shoved it towards the Lieutenant. "This is a fine mess, isn't it?"

Lieutenant Saunders looked at the sloshing liquor with disbelief, "This doesn't make sense. Why would the Inquisition come all the way out here just to investigate a moon base? I mean no disrespect, sir, but we're basically just some comms relays and a junkyard."

"None taken," his C.O. replied, taking another drink, "But we're not gonna find that out until we speak with them. If we even get that far."

"Sir, I've never even seen an Inquisitor before, let alone spoken to one," Saunders said, pouring some of the liquor for himself. "How am I supposed to keep them occupied?"

"I don't know, and these don't sound like your everyday Inquisitors," the Colonel said distantly. "Sounds like they could be bringing along Adepta Sororitas. If so, they're not here to investigate anything. Likely they'll just shake down Jacobson, and if they're not satisfied with what he gives them, they'll start burning us out of these tunnels like rats."

The Lieutenant took a sip of the low quality whiskey and choked it down, "Adepta whats?"

"Sororitas," the Colonel replied. "The Sisters of Battle."

Finishing his drink, Saunders set the glass on the desk, "Rings a bell but, wow, this stuff is strong." He thumped his chest as if to coax the firewater down, "What can you tell me about them?"

"Well, they're an all women sect of the militant arm of the Ecclesiarchy. They're all decked out in power armor, carry the Inquisitorial Rosettes—"

"What?"

"Rosettes, the uh," he traced a vague shape in the air with his finger, "They look like I's."

"Oh, right. I think I've seen those."

"Yeah. Usually they carry enough melta to level an entire armored regiment, though in this case I suspect they'll be wearing flamers."

The young secretary looked up from her desk, her worried eyes exaggerated by the thick glasses she wore, "Do you really think they're going to purge us!? We haven't done anything wrong, sir!"

"No, no we haven't," Bradley replied, tapping the end of the bottle with his finger. He muttered under his breath, "Not like that's stopped them before…"

The Lieutenant swallowed another glass of the cheap whiskey and glanced at the time, "I suppose I should be heading out. There's only four hours to get over to the landing zone."

The Colonel sat back deeply in his chair, "Lieutenant, make sure you keep a tight leash on your men. And for the love of the Emperor, don't ask too many questions! Just keep your mouth shut, okay?"

"Yes, sir." As he stepped away from the desk, Saunders turned to the secretary, her countenance dark. "Sparky, tell Sergeant Cole to have my platoon meet me by the tunnel gates in half an hour."

"Yes, sir," she said meekly, grabbing the vox-caster wired to the corner of her desk.

The Lieutenant nodded and walked out of the room. As he started back towards his quarters the gravity of this situation hit him, making his muscles quiver as though he were in a cold bath. Maybe it was the rotgut, maybe it was the Commissar's longwinded explanation, maybe it was the warning in his Colonel's voice, but something deep inside told him he wouldn't be returning from this mission. The only thing standing between his men and the business end of a flamer was his own guile and the smooth talking of his Commissar. As the possibilities of what might happen crashed through his mind, the Lieutenant ran for the nearest washroom and became violently ill.

After cleaning himself up and changing into something a bit more suitable for field duty, Lieutenant Saunders approached the main tunnel access gates. Three squads, each fifteen men deep, stood yawning and scratching themselves before the metal door. Most of them were only half in uniform while the others clearly hadn't shaved in at least a few days. Such details stuck out to him like bulls-eyes painted on their backs. As the men noticed him approach, the only properly dressed one amongst them stepped forward.

"Sergeant Cole reporting all men assembled and accounted for, sir," he said with a crisp salute.

"Thank you, Sergeant," the Lieutenant replied, returning the man's gesture.

"Might I say, sir, it's quite unusual for us to patrol the tunnels at this hour."

The Lieutenant looked over his men, each of them seeming more annoyed than anything. He debated whether to tell them the truth, that he was essentially leading them all to their judgment day. Deciding there was no reason to incite a panic before breakfast, he opted for a more conservative approach.

"The Colonel is expecting some guests from offworld," he told the Sergeant. "We're going to be their escort."

"Guests?" Cole replied indignantly, "Lieutenant, you ordered me to assemble the entire platoon for a tunnel escort?"

"That's right, Sergeant," the Lieutenant replied.

Cole looked as if he was going to balk at the notion but seemed to notice the fretful miasma hanging over the Lieutenant. Tentatively he replied "I see, well, we're ready to set off at your word."

The Lieutenant nodded and raised his hand, "Open the gate, we're leaving at once. It's a long trek to landing zone six."

"Six!?" the Sergeant said, "Bloody hell that's a hike, are you sure we wouldn't be better off taking the Chimeras?"

"Trust me, Sergeant, we're going to need all the time we can get once we rendezvous with the offworlders."

"Yes, sir…" Cole said, his voice trailing off. "You heard the Lieutenant, open the gates!"

Two of the men standing by the control panel began flipping the levers one by one, activating the hydraulics deep inside the structure. The two gates, each a foot thick, slid into their recesses in the walls with a deep rumble that shook the dust free from the steel rafters. Air rushed from the room with the equalizing pressure and the smell of old motor oil and rusted steel overwhelmed them. Everyone attached their rebreathers as the blast doors came to an abrupt halt, leaving an opening large enough for three Leman Russ tanks to pass through abreast. With the gates open and their masks in place, the platoon began its long march into the darkness with the Lieutenant at the lead. As the last man stepped out the door began to crawl closed, sealing the base once more from the decay beyond.

* * *

A few beeps were heard from aboard the _Naglfari_ as Glaucon rummaged through the navigational index. Archon Irons looked up with mild surprise to see him not only still with the Kabal but alive and well. With a voice made even raspier from constantly screaming for his life during the entire ride through Commorragh, the Wrack explained, "This location has not been updated in our charts in quite some time. The mon-keigh here call it the XGN star cluster."

"What?! Didn't we just come from there?" the Archon replied.

"Your logs seem to indicate so. We are several star systems further out from your last position however, and appear to be in an almost abandoned installation nestled within the core of a moon."

"Hmm…" The Archon paced back and forth, her heavy metal boots clomping on the floor as her Kabal watched in anticipation. Stroking a lock of her hair, she mused aloud, "So we are now homeless, hunted, and trapped in a backwater mon-keigh colony so cramped and filthy it is not even fit to be used as a slave den." She stopped and looked back at Kylendris, "Are you sure this is a rescue? Are you sure you didn't just drive my Raider into a building at some point? Because I'm pretty sure this is what hell is."

Kylendris tugged idly at his flight suit, "My Archon, I apologize if I—"

"At least tell me Eddie is okay."

The pilot looked at Glaucon, who began shaking his head frantically, "Hey, I wanted to bring the Talos along!"

Archon Irons drew her blaster on the pilot, the darklight chamber open and menacing, "I want you to think about your response very carefully, Kylendris, or the next thing you're going to feel is Rusty's load going down your tiny privileged throat."

The pilot froze in place, his heart pounding so hard she could hear it in the silence of the cement chamber.

"Now, where is Eddie?"

Kylendris' entire body shook like a leaf as he took an audible breath, "The Talos is back in the tower, my Archon, right where you left it."

She hesitated, caressing the trigger as the visor of his helmet lined up with the iron sights. Then, uncocking her weapon, she lowered the blaster to her side, "Good."

"You… good!?" he said, his chest heaving in terrified breaths.

"Eddie is a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"Oh, yes… of cour—"

"Silence!" she spat, her ears pricking up.

Kylendris paused, straining to listen as well. In the distance, the light plod of footsteps could be heard. Dozens of them noisily but distantly clomped their way down the tunnels. Archon Irons sniffed the air; there was apprehension, mon-keigh sweat, and the ever-present delicious odor of fear. Slowly she replaced her blaster, drawing the impaler instead and signaling for her Kabal to follow. Two dozen warriors crept like wolves between the piles of rusted debris, daggers and bayonets at the ready.

Glaucon looked over his shoulder at the pilot and made a gesture with his good hand, asking whether or not they should follow. Looking down at the engines, which were still radiating heat and the acrid smell of new metal, Kylendris shook his head. Someone had to make sure the vehicles were ready to go once the portal was functional again. As he began cycling the coolant through the _Naglfari's_ systems, the Archon's patrol faded from view.

* * *

Yes'ruch stood in line with the other Black Guardians on an open deck, the ship's quiet engines softly pulsing beyond its wraithbone structure. They'd been there for hours, holding their weapons at attention, staring into the blank webway portal as if willing it to life. In spite of the Palmarias' best efforts, the portal was still down. Even more concerning, no one else present had any idea what was happening on the other side. Was the other portal damaged, or was it manually disconnected? And if so, by whom? The psychic chatter amongst her colleagues flew around her, and though she knew the truth, she dared not speak it. She had a target on her back enough as it was, there was no need to add to her poor reputation by being a doomsayer. Besides, she thought, with a little coaxing this mission might be pushed back on track. Just as soon as…

"There it is," Palmarias said, stepping away from the portal as it sparked to life. An unsteady flicker turned into an open gateway as the portal opened for them. The two Guardians in charge of transporting the explosives hoisted their cargo, ready to carry it through. Before giving the order, the Warlock pulled a pair of runes from a pouch on his belt and began scrying, ensuring they were still on the right path for events to unfold favorably. Yes'ruch didn't know how far into the future he foresaw, or if he truly understood the importance of the undertaking they were about to perform, but he seemed satisfied by the results. As he pocketed his runes, the Warlock waved his Black Guardians forward, the eager troops marching blindly into the webway portal before them. Yes'ruch followed, her weapon clenched tight. For the first time in over a century she felt an emotion she'd long since forgotten; apprehension.


	6. Rats In A Maze

A little over an hour had passed since the Archon left in pursuit of her mon-keigh prey. In that time, Kylendris managed to get the overheating Raider engines under control and even fixed some broken bladevanes on their last Reaver bike while waiting for her return. Glaucon's talents were more in line with flesh-sculpting than vehicular maintenance, but he knew enough to lend a hand… or claw, making the field repairs that much quicker.

The Wrack held a bulky plate up as best he could while Kylendris, hanging on a chain-belt over the railing, welded it on. "What are we going to do with these things once they're finished?" he asked with a metallic resonance.

The pilot pulled the darklight torch away, his protective helmet glistening, "I was going to move them back into the webway whenever that portal decides to fix itself. I can't imagine we'll need them in these tunnels." He craned his neck to look over at the junk pile that held the wraithbone structure, "Should be any minute now."

Glaucon nodded idly as Kyle resumed his task. It wasn't unusual for a pilot to be accustomed to outfitting their own vehicles, but Kylendris seemed to have a knack for it that most of the Wych Cult riders and Kabalite helmsmen lacked. He seemed as much in tune with these machines as Glaucon was with the horrid living sculptures his kind made. The Wrack sighed as he watched the pilot finish securing the plate. It was moments like these he missed helping his master. The smell of freshly hewn skin and bone in the workshop, the flesh puppets dancing on hooks overhead, and of course the thrill of discovery as his master, Meliankris, explored ever new depths of torture and pain. He wondered if he would ever be privy to such delights again under the Archon's employ, though the prospect of her bringing fresh slaves meant ample opportunities to try.

A sparking behind them caught their attention, the light almost blinding in that pitch-black hole. The two Dark Eldar looked up to see the webway portal crackling to life, its tumultuous interior flickering here and there as the runes began to pulse with energy, their surfaces not quite completely healed.

"What in the…" Kyle said, turning off his torch. "It shouldn't be doing that."

"No," Glaucon replied. "We've been followed."

Kylendris' body spun around as he yanked himself up by the chain-belt. Signaling to the Wrack to get on the other Raider, he threw himself at the helm, smashing the activation switch for the night shields. Instantly the Raider was enveloped in darkness, completely melding with its surroundings. Looking across the way, he saw the uncouth Coven member struggling to mount the steep hull.

"Hurry!" he said, unbuckling himself and jumping off the side of the _Naglfari_.

"I'm trying, you simpleton!" the frustrated Wrack replied, hoisting himself up slowly, the leather apron around his waist catching on the innumerable spikes surrounding the vessel. Eventually he managed to flop onboard and activated the night shields just as Kylendris hit the throttle on the Reaver.

The webway portal stabilized, forming an even, swirling mass of energy that radiated from the wraithbone in thin tendrils to the outside of the portal, framing it in a dazzling blue. It was much prettier and certainly inspired more confidence than the ad-hoc holes the Commorrites punched through reality. Kylendris lowered the bike next to the deck of the other Raider, allowing Glaucon a chance to climb on before speeding off behind some nearby wreckage. As he killed the engine, the Wrack dismounted and adjusted his mask, getting a better look at the portal below. The vantage point was perfect, overlooking the portal but without being too close.

"Do you think the Gypsy Road followed us?" Kylendris whispered from the bike.

The portal shifted as silhouettes appeared behind the cloudy mass. "I don't believe so," Glaucon replied. "They had no idea how long the portal would be down. If they were chasing us, they'd have looked for another way through."

"They might have left a guard behind just to be sure though."

The Wrack pointed towards the Raiders' heavy weapons, now barely a silhouette in the dark, "We can handle some stragglers."

Kyle choked a bit at the suggestion but didn't get a chance to respond. Out from the portal stepped an entire squad of Guardians, their armor a shining black and bone-white with golden eye motifs on every shoulder guard. In the midst of them stood one in flowing robes, his hand resting on the hilt of a witchblade secured at his side. As the Eldar emerged they looked around cautiously, though their expressions were unreadable behind their helmets.

"Craftworlders!?" Kylendris sputtered, desperately trying to keep his voice down. "What are they doing here!?"

"Perhaps the Gypsy Road has more powerful allies than the Archon thought…" Glaucon mused.

After taking stock of their surroundings, the Eldar below hastily set about marching into the darkness. Two of the Guardians in the middle of the group carried a large piece of cargo between them. One of their number, a dawdling female straggler, paused as her squad marched on and seemed to look right at the two of them. The Guardian's stare froze them in place, her eyes setting right where they hid. Yet after a moment she too marched on with the rest of the formation.

"You saw that, right?" Kylendris asked as the Craftworlders continued down the corridor. "Do you think they know we're here?"

"If they do, they certainly do not seem care," Glaucon replied.

"We should warn the Archon, this could be dangerous."

"Or…" Glaucon said, his tone low, "We could do as you suggested and move the vehicles into the webway."

"And do what?" he asked indignantly, "Leave the Kabal stranded?"

"No, spring a trap," the Wrack said, his fingers drumming against his metal claw.

The pilot stared at him, his mask obscuring any attempt at reading his expression, but the gears were obviously turning.

"We have heavy weapons and the element of surprise. They'll be funneled through the portal on their return, making them easy prey. All we have to do is pick them off."

Kylendris looked over at the Raiders and said, "I don't like it, but if—"

"I've never had the opportunity to work with actual Craftworlder flesh before," the Wrack interrupted. "I hear it is quite the delicacy. And imagine what we'll be able to buy with those spirit stones."

"I'm not exactly hurting for money."

"These aren't mere slaves, Kylendris, these are priceless!" The Wrack waved his arm in the air as if in a trance, "We could get Wych Arena tickets, the finest laboratory equipment, the company of an upper-city Lhamaean courtesan!"

Kylendris shook his head, starting the jetbike again.

"Or even…" He leaned on Kylendris' shoulder, pulling his hand off the throttle, "A chance to see the Harlequins perform."

The pilot hesitated, his head cocking slightly, "You're lying."

"The Harlequins value Eldar souls as greatly as any Archon. You don't think they would admit you to their performance in exchange?" Glaucon shrugged in the exaggerated fashion the Harlequin Players were known for, his grating voice lilting, "And you'd be saving the poor things from the _hideous_ fates that await them in Commorragh no less."

Kyle looked away for a moment, his head swinging back and forth between the Wrack and the two nearly invisible Raiders before finally turning into a nod, "Alright, but you better be a good shot."

* * *

Sergeant Cole marched behind his Lieutenant, overhearing the sneers and muffled comments of the soldiers behind him. Their trek over to landing zone six was now in its third hour and he was pretty sure they'd walked past the same half-melta'd Leman Russ tank at least twice. Far be it from him of course to mention to the Lieutenant that he could ever lead them astray, but the young officer never had a particularly good sense of direction. There was, after all, a reason he was on XGN-T34-85 and not off fighting in the Emperor's name.

"Sir," Cole said as they trudged through the darkness, "Might I recommend taking a break? We must be getting close and the men haven't eaten yet."

"We have no time," Lieutenant Saunders replied, "The ship should be arriving any minute."

"How much further then?"

The officer stopped and pulled out his data-slate, which contained an outdated map of the underground complex. "Shouldn't be much further, assuming we don't find anymore cave-ins."

As soon as he said that, a tremendous crash was heard in the distance, the sound of clattering steel and crushed rockcrete echoing off the tunnel walls.

"Oh for the Emperor's sake…" the Lieutenant said, pulling his rebreather off in frustration. Angrily scribbling something onto the data-slate he pointed to one of his corporals, "Gamma squad, go check out that tunnel and give me a damage report."

The corporal of Gamma gave a half-hearted salute and slogged off into the darkness with his men in tow, the lot of them armed only with flashlights of varying calibers.

"I want to at least _try_ to keep these maps updated," Lieutenant Saunders added, tapping the slate and making sure to annotate their position. "In the meantime, take five, everyone."

The Guardsmen collectively took a seat and began pulling out rations, stretching, or sneaking off behind some large junk pile to relieve themselves in a runoff drain. Seeing as this was as good a time as any, the Sergeant asked, "Do you mind if I have a look at the map, sir?"

Breathing heavily, the Lieutenant reattached his mask before answering. "By all means," Saunders replied, handing him the slate as he fiddled with his straps.

Although the Lieutenant wasn't exactly a master navigator, he wasn't wrong about the maps. Half of the dead-ends and turnarounds they'd come across were due to the disrepair of the tunnels. Between collapsing ceilings, overflowing piles of scrap, and underground chasms forming, the entire structure was changing with the geology as though it were alive. Even so, Cole took his time highlighting the fastest and most obvious route before handing the slate back to the officer.

"Much obliged, Sergeant," he said graciously.

"Not a problem, sir."

"Really, Alex, I was about to eat my hat looking at this thing," he added quietly, turning away from the rest of the men. "This mission has me on edge."

"That's obvious," the Sergeant replied in a low tone. "You've been acting strangely all morning, and we left for an escort without the Commissar. Victor, why don't you tell me what this is really about?"

The Lieutenant bowed his head and slowly paced away from the rest of the men, the Sergeant following. "Commissar Jacobson is busy preparing the headquarters for inspection."

"Preparing? He's a Commissar, he's the one who does the inspecting around here."

"Not this time," Saunders replied. "These guests we're escorting, they're Inquisition."

"HOLY TERRA!"

Two dozen men turned to look as the Sergeant quickly regained his composure. "Inquisition!?" he whispered frantically, "Why didn't you tell me this before we left!?"

"And what, have the men think I was ordering them on a death march?"

Cole fidgeted with his uniform, making sure everything was properly tucked and secured, "I can't believe this, why are the Inquisition coming here?"

"We don't know, and we won't find out until they speak with the Colonel."

"So that's it then? Just pick them up and drop them off?"

The Lieutenant looked him in the eye, "I wish it were that simple but we have to stall for time. Every minute we spend out here is another minute the Commissar has to get the base up to snuff, so we're taking them on the scenic route."

"I see," the Sergeant replied ponderously, "That's a dangerous game, Vic. I don't like it."

"I don't either, but I also don't like the idea of getting executed on some technicality."

With a sigh, the Sergeant turned back towards the men, "We should get moving again, we're going to need to hurry."

"Agreed…" the Lieutenant said, looking over the men and activating his vox-caster, "Gamma squad, come in, forget the tunnel, we're getting ready to move out again."

Some static and scraping noises were all that answered.

"Gamma squad? Come in!"

There was more static, what sounded like muffled footsteps, and a distinct squishing sound before the air went dead.

"Damn these tunnels," the Lieutenant said, boosting the amplifier's power, "Gamma. Come. In."

There was no response.

* * *

Dim light flashed off the damp walls, the primitive torches the humans used waving to and fro over the tunnel. Erinyes held her impaler behind her, peeking around the corner, waiting for them to draw near. As her prey approached, she took a deep breath. Time seemed to slow down, her heightened senses aware of every movement: The breathing of her warriors behind her, the smell of the mildew, the lumbering movements of the humans that approached. As they stepped beyond the closest scrap pile, she twitched her hand in the darkness. Instantly a bayonet flew from behind a tangled mess of bent girders, striking one of the humans in the throat and reeling him into the shadows like a morsel on a fork, bleeding and silently wailing in agony as he choked.

The mon-keigh squad continued on, unaware that one of their own was missing. As they drew closer, the Archon gave another signal. This time two more warriors stepped out of the shadows, their splinter rifles in hand. In one deft motion they wrapped the serrated barrels of their guns around the necks of their respective victims, pulling two more humans silently from the rear of the pack to their demise.

Eventually one of the humans turned around and, realizing three of their men were missing, immediately started calling into the shadows with grunting speech. Torches flew in every direction looking for the missing men, though more out of annoyance than panic. Gradually they began breaking away, calling out names in the cumbersome, ugly language they use. A warrior pulled another soldier into the darkness, this time with a gauntlet over its mouth, letting its scream muffle into the dark blue metal. One more human turned around, alerted by the shuffling, only to suffer a similar fate.

The Archon watched in rapt anticipation. Their fear was growing, she could feel it seeping into her like water into parched earth. The mon-keighs began moving erratically, shouting and bumping into one another. Their weapons were readied now, the torches mounted on the stocks of their pathetic guns, each flashing around and around in a desperate attempt to find their stalkers in the darkness. Erinyes saw her warriors dart around the heaps of garbage, always one step ahead of the wandering lights. When the last of her men were in position, she gave the final signal.

A bayonet thrust into the back of a Guardsman, its forked blades severing his spine and poking out through his chest. The man screamed in sheer terror as his comrades watched, momentarily stunned at the sight of their friend being gored alive. As he passed out from pain and shock, his body slumped, revealing the shadowy outline of his killer. All at once the humans raised their arms and fired, the red lights glancing off the walls as the Dark Eldar ran back into the darkness.

As the mon-keigh fired blindly into the chamber, the Kabalites descended on them like wolves. Not a single splinter shot was fired; her Kabal quenching their dire thirst with their bare hands and blades. Wails, pleading, screams, and curses filled the chamber as the human pigs were unceremoniously hacked to pieces, the warriors making sure to inflict as many non-lethal wounds as they could before allowing their victims to expire. Archon Irons skewered a human herself while strolling through the mayhem, as though the carnage surrounding her were some sort of display put on entirely for her benefit. She noticed their leader lying face-first in the entrails of one of its comrades, its radio mumbling something incoherent, muffled by the blood and gore. Casually she stepped on it, breaking the vox and the skull in one motion.

When the final human breathed his last, Erinyes turned to her men. Even without psychic powers she could feel the strength radiating off them, their souls nourished by the pain and suffering they evoked. She had to admit, she felt much better herself. She was used to running raids and subjugating her inferiors, it had been too long since she'd indulged in the good old-fashioned slaughter of aliens.

"My Archon," Auroq said, stepping forward with his warriors flanking him, "The other humans will come to investigate soon. Shall we prepare to intercept them?"

"Not yet," she replied, grabbing a fingerful of blood of the end of her impaler. "Hide the bodies, but leave the mess. Let their imaginations do the work for us."

"Yes, my Archon," he replied.

Erinyes sucked on her finger, savoring the flavor of terror still flowing through the victim. As she licked her lips, the distant sound of clattering metal caught her ear. "What in the Warp is that?"

"Sounds like a ship landing," Auroq replied.

"Heh, maybe these mon-keighs are quicker to respond than I thought." The Archon threw her impaler on her backplate once more and waved the Kabal into the shadows.

Even though her kind were far more adept at navigating the darkness than the humans, between the collapsing ceiling, yawning chasms, and derelict vehicles piling into the middle of the tunnels, it took some time for them to trace the sound. The Archon wondered how the primitive inhabitants of this world managed to survive without becoming hopelessly lost. She decided that they must be used to living like rodents, scurrying in and out of their holes, scavenging whatever they could from the wreckage that surrounds them before returning to their nests with their prizes. The thought made her smile, and she almost shared her muse before catching the irony of her conclusion.

As they meandered towards the noise, Archon Irons could sense the presence of the humans. Distant muffled voices were caught over the sound of grinding metal and idling combustion engines. The Archon raised her hand, signaling her men to hold position as she spotted movement up ahead. Slow, tracked vehicles rolled forward, their noisy chassis suspending thick armor and heavy weapons, each lavishly decorated with the ornate symbols of the human religion. They lumbered into formation and parked, ready to move out on command. The Archon crept forward, her warriors following in silence. The tunnel widened as she moved, allowing the Dark Eldar a good view of the entire landing zone. A large ship, about the size of a frigate, was unloading yet more armor. These gaudy metal boxes lined up neatly one after the other as patrols of well-equipped soldiers wandered to and fro. Something was different about these mon-keigh however.

"They're all women…" Auroq noted.

"Yes… must be one of their female regiments," Erinyes replied.

"Is that power armor?" One of the warriors asked, "They look a bit… small to be wearing that."

"Clearly these females haven't had the same ham-handed genetic modifications their brothers have." The Archon pulled out her blaster and dropped to one knee behind a piece of sheet metal, "Let's wait and see what they're up to."

A rather formidable looking woman in a fur-trimmed cloak, holding a large power sword, stood watching the preparations by the tunnel. A helmed soldier approached her with a crisp salute, "My Lady, we're nearly unloaded but we can't hail any of the Imperial outposts."

The cloaked woman turned towards her, placing her sword on the ground blade first to rest her hands atop the pommel, "We're underground, my Sister. They build these Imperial bunkers with walls anywhere from feet to acres thick. No transmission is leaving this room, let alone hailing a base."

The Sister held up a data-slate, "But my Canonness, these maps are terribly outdated. Numerous cave-ins were reported even since this transmission, how do you plan to navigate this labyrinth?"

"That's why we brought the Immolators," she replied coolly. "We'll cut a path if we must."

As she listened, one of Erinyes' warriors tapped her shoulder, "Can you understand any of that?"

"Of course, human language is simple. They just grunt and point at things," the Archon replied.

"I thought that was Orkish."

"There's little difference," she said, turning back to the mass of soldiers.

The Canoness stood before the empty ship as her Sisters assembled. Several squads, each with their own payload of the familiar bolters and flamers the human marines so frequently used, lined up in an organized fashion. Blade in hand, the she flung her cloak back and addressed them, "My Sisters, it is with a heavy heart we must carry out our investigation here today. Perversion seeps into every crack in this star cluster. XGN-T29 has already fallen, as you have seen yourselves, and these tunnels of filth are no doubt harboring vile mutation and heresy in all its most heinous forms. It is our duty to stop its spread in the Emperor's name."

"In the Emperor's name!" cried the throng.

"We should not execute without evidence." The Canoness said, her voice terse. "This installation may yet be a bastion of His light in a sea of darkness. But if we find even a hint of corruption then we must not hesitate to put the flame to each and every soul. For it is better they find the Emperor's peace now than lose themselves to heresy."

"Burn the heretic! Kill the mutant! Purge the unclean!" the Sisters shouted.

The Archon looked back at her warriors. It seemed only a few of them understood what was going on, and those that didn't gripped their rifles eagerly. Sensing their anticipation, Erinyes stood up and gave the signal for her men to ready a charge.

"My Archon, are you sure it wise to attack them?" Auroq asked, bracing his heat lance.

"What, when they're all lined up out in the open like that?" Erinyes replied. "It would be poor taste to turn down such a generous offering."

"But they are in their convocation!"

"And soon they'll be in our slave pens," she replied, taking aim from the darkness.

Two dozen warriors raised their splinter rifles behind her, waiting for their Archon to have the privilege of the first kill. As the Canoness finished her speech she turned around, her augmented eye appearing to catch their outline in the darkness just as Erinyes fired. The crack was nearly deafening in the underground chamber as a darklight beam struck the mon-keigh's armor directly. As soon as it touched metal however, a veil of golden light surrounded the Canoness, deflecting the bolt harmlessly away. The shining barrier faded as quickly as it came, leaving the human unscathed by the otherwise instantly lethal shot.

"Well… shit," Erinyes said.

The Canoness raised her sword, its blade surging with power, "BURNING GLORY!"


	7. Mistaken Identity

All at once, bolter rounds ripped through the air and splinterfire clattered off of power armor. Erinyes ducked for cover as a frag grenade went right by her head, falling down one of the many grated runoff drains in the floor before exploding. The Sisters ran for their machines, their Rhinos, Immolators, and other Ecclesiarchal vehicles roaring to life and drenching the landing pad in melta and fire. Archon Irons counted on the mon-keighs being powerful, but what she didn't expect was for them to be _resilient_.

With her element of surprise blown, Erinyes cried, "Fall back!" She lobbed a grenade of her own into the Sororitas' ranks as she began a rather undignified retreat.

The plasma exploded, taking out an unwitting Sister in the process, but five more stepped up to take her place. The Canoness pulled herself aboard a Rhino, its laud-hailers blaring the hymns of her people. Rolling steel gunned after the fleeing Dark Eldar at full throttle, the machines' spiked dozer blades forcing apart the thick masses of steel and collapsed rockcrete smothering the corridors. Several warriors were cut down by a stream of melta, their bodies severed clean in two. Erinyes looked back to see their petrified faces just before the mon-keigh vehicles ground them into the floor with their tracks.

The Archon stopped running to bring up her blaster once more, aiming it at an Immolator towards the front of the pack. Its hungry flamers ignited as she pulled the trigger, penetrating its fuel tanks and blowing the machine and all its occupants to kingdom come. In spite of the dozen other vehicles still bearing down on her, she smiled as the Sisters inside struggled to force their way out of the mangled hatches, their armor glowing with heat before they finally collapsed, suffocating on the burning air. Their pain was savory.

A storm bolter on one of the Rhinos rang out and a shell pierced her shoulderguard, knocking her to the ground. _That's what I get for being cocky_ , the Archon thought. As she tried to stand she realized her right arm was broken. Blood pooled on the ground from where the shot grazed her under her armor. Wounded in both body and pride, she jumped to her feet and started running after her men, the humans closing in around her like sharks. A heat lance beam struck one of the Rhinos, cutting the tracks off it and causing it to smash into a wall. Erinyes looked up to see Auroq jetting away, his jump pack taking him back to the disorganized rush of warriors ahead of her.

The Dark Eldar ran through the twisting corridors, frantically trying to lose the foes they so foolishly antagonized. Archon Irons was well accustomed to these kinds of retreats, as even these convoluted scrap heaps and cave-ins were nothing compared to the nightmarish maze that was Commorragh. The Sisters on the other hand didn't seem to have such an easy time navigating the dark avenues and confusing, twisting passages. Before long, half of their numbers were lost in the subterranean maze, the distant rumble of their vehicles echoing aimlessly all around.

Realizing that escape was their only option, the Archon led her men right back to the Eldar portal. When they arrived however she found it was already energized, as if it were freshly used. Erinyes didn't have time to think about how or why though, as without heavy weapons her men were sitting ducks against those tanks. She ran straight towards the wraithbone structure and activated the webway gate with one hand. Thin blue tendrils reached out and the gate popped open, like a holo-screen blinking on. No sooner had the portal stabilized than about a dozen Dark Eldar warriors poured inside.

Spotlights rounded the corner and the grunt of the enemy tanks filled the chamber. The Canoness leapt from her Rhino as it turned to face the portal, its bolter taking pot-shots at the Dark Eldar stragglers. "They're escaping!" she shouted, "Quickly, my Sisters, rout the intruders!" Brandishing her power sword she charged the open portal with several vehicles and an entire platoon of her Sisters following on her heels. Erinyes ducked another bolter round and fired back with one hand, her blaster taking the head off another mon-keigh. As the last warrior made it through the gate she backed in herself, firing as she went. The shifting reality fell over her like a thin sheet as the scene changed from the pitch black underground to ethereal gloom.

The Canoness however was unperturbed. She'd found foul xeno filth desecrating a human installation and was not about to let them escape with their lives. Through the portal she led her soldiers, vehicles and all. Erinyes shouldered her blaster and ran, but in her attempt to cover their retreat she'd lost sight of her warriors. The twisting sinews of the webway were delicate and tended to shift, especially towards the extremities, and it seemed they were not kind to her this day. Coming to a dead end, the Archon turned around. The Canoness stared her down, her sword glowing with power, reflecting the hatred in the human's eyes. Dozens of Sororitas watched with weapons at the ready as their mistress slowly stepped closer. Erinyes grabbed the impaler off her back and held it out threateningly.

"Surrender, Eldar, and you shall be granted a swift death," the Canoness said.

"The same cannot be said for you," she replied, speaking in her native tongue. She would not sully herself with the primitive speech of her adversary.

The Canoness sneered at the words, though whether she understood them Erinyes didn't know. With both hands guiding her blade she unleashed a holy battle cry and charged forward, stabbing at her heart. Erinyes deflected the lethal blow and struck with the butt of her polearm, the attack glancing harmlessly off her power armor. The Canoness swung back and the Archon blocked with the impaler's shaft. Fueled by raw, bitter hatred, the mon-keigh swung again and again. There was no form to her technique, no grace as one would expect from a duelist, just the sheer pounding weight of blow after blow. Her power sword crackled with every glance as she pummeled the Archon into submission, her Eldar agility useless in such tight quarters and with only one arm against the unrelenting attack.

With a great cleave the Canoness swung her blade over her head, smashing it into the shaft of the impaler once more. The thin polearm sundered as the blade passed clean through the metal, right through the Archon's armor, and deep into her side. Erinyes was thrown to the ground from the force of the strike, her wounds bleeding profusely as the Canoness stepped forward.

"Feel the Emperor's Wra—"

A hail of smoking grenades fell into the Sisters' ranks, exploding into a haze of multicolored fumes. Shrieks and wails erupted from the warrior women as the mind-altering effects of the phantasm grenades tore at their sanity. From above, Erinyes heard a familiar, metallic voice, "Good shot!"

"What devilry is this!?" The Canoness shouted. Looking up, Erinyes could see her Kabal mounted in their Raiders, staring down at them with weapons drawn, her Talos hovering in their midst.

"Eddie!" she shouted, blood flicking from her lips.

The pain engine, upon seeing its mistress wounded, roared and leapt forth, diving into the formation of bewildered and terrified Sisters. The Immolators brought their weapons to bear, smothering the monstrous creature with heavy flamers but in its blind rage it felt no pain. With all its unholy strength it smashed apart the war machines, ignoring the pelting bolter rounds chipping at its carapace.

From above the Raiders zoomed forward, their weapons punishing the Sisters while the warriors on board carpeted their lines with poisoned shots, quickly swapping their weapons on the splinter racks the moment they ran dry. A Reaver bike shot forward, taking the head off one of the humans, while a second glided down in front of the now thoroughly bewildered Canoness. Erinyes looked up and a tremor ran through her heart; it was the Syren from the Cult of Claws.

"You…" Erinyes said, pulling herself to her feet, "What are you doing here? How did you find us?"

The towering Eldar stepped off the bike, the lightning claws she'd pillaged now lashed to her belt, "I followed your Talos. It led me straight to your portal."

Erinyes looked behind the gladiator to see the massive creature throwing the helpless Sisters alive into its carapace while her warriors rounded them up like pigs for slaughter.

"You followed Eddie all the way out here?" she asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I have never seen a pain engine so… diligent in finding its master."

"You fiends will BURN IN THE EMPEROR'S LIGHT!" The Canoness screamed, pulling a melta bomb from her hip.

The Syren spun around and kicked out her knee, sending the mon-keigh falling backwards. Before she hit the ground, the nimble wych grabbed her hand and punched her square in the jaw in one swift motion, disarming her of the bomb and knocking her unconscious. Tossing the lethal melta bomb in her hand like a prize, she placed it on the Reaver bike and turned back to the Archon.

"So what have you come for?" Erinyes asked.

The silhouette of a Scourge walked towards her, his heat lance held at ease, "Chariath has an interesting proposition for us, my Archon."

She raised an eyebrow as the wych nodded, "I have an arrangement that may work to both our benefits."

"Do tell," the Archon said, desperately trying to hold herself up in spite of substantial blood loss.

"Salendrid murdered Lady Arataire," she growled, straightening up as she said it. "He defiled our arena, denigrated our Cult, and murdered my Succubus. As Syren of the Cult of Claws I shall not suffer this insult."

"Seems like we have a lot in common," Erinyes replied.

The wych's mask blocked her mouth from view, but she gave a firm nod.

"Am I sensing an offer in there?"

Chariath rolled her shoulders back, "My Cult is willing to assist you in retribution against the Gypsy Road Kabal. All we ask is your sponsorship for tradition and appearances."

Archon Irons glanced at Auroq, who was smirking at this apparent good fortune, "I see. I am sure I don't have to tell you this, Chariath, but the Kabal of the Iron Maiden is not exactly in a position to be sponsoring anyone. That is the reason I was in your arena in the first place."

"You need not make any actual donations," she replied. "The title will suffice."

"That is generous," she replied, her tone dark, "But I do not like being indebted, especially to those with more power than myself." Erinyes knew all too well how generosity was like a sheathed dagger amongst the Dark Eldar. To even imply that you might do something out of the goodness of your heart was enough to inspire paranoia amongst any who did business with you.

"The cost will be extracted on the Gypsy Road," she said. "The spoils of their Kabal shall be ours, while you may retain your lair and retinue for your part."

Archon Irons smiled in satisfaction before furrowing her brow, "And how do you plan to enact all this? Your Cult no longer has a Succubus."

"Not yet," she casually replied. "Lady Arataire's regeneration is being… delayed by the Coven, as their agreement was with the Gypsy Road, not us. In the meantime, I shall claim the role of Succubus."

Erinyes noted the combat drugs lining her wych suit were all refilled. After fighting her personally, the Archon knew she wouldn't have any trouble holding the title. "Very well." She raised her voice and gestured towards the now incapacitated Sisters, "Let us load these prizes up and see it done."

"My Archon," Kylendris said, standing atop one of the damaged human machines, "What would you have us do with these?"

Archon Irons waved her hand dismissively, "Leave them, they are useless junk."

"But my Archon! They're—"

"What, Kylendris?" she growled, "They are what?"

"…I mean, this one is shaped like a pipe organ."

Taking a deep breath, she said, "If you want to salvage them, then you figure out a way to get them back. I am leaving."

Chariath stared at the diminutive pilot as he inspected the human wreckage, "Who is that?"

"Kylendris, my white elephant," she said.

"What does he want with those mon-keigh vehicles?"

"They are his favorite trophies," the Archon said, hoisting herself aboard the Naglfari, her wounds still oozing blood. "He says he finds their primitive aspects curious. I find it curious he hasn't been gutted in the street yet."

The Syren watched as he began reassembling the driver's console on one of the Immolators, "Those vehicles would make a spectacular showpiece in our arena."

"Well you are welcome to them," she said. "Consider it our first contribution as official sponsors."

The Syren gave a respectable bow and mounted her bike, circling around her Cult's newest acquisitions. Meanwhile, the Sisters were tied to the mast, chained to the bow, and hung by their armor to chain flails dangling below the hull of the Raiders. Some were still conscious, their hoarse voices screaming in terror and cursing the Dark Eldar at the same time, still dazed out of their gourds by the mind-altering drugs. It was music to Erinyes ears.

The warrior at the helm leaned over, "Where shall we go, my Archon? I fear the Gypsy Road may have compromised our lair."

"Take us to the Cult of Claws' arena," she said, nursing her side from her seat aboard the Raider, "And be quick about it, will you? I want to spend some time with my new playthings."

As the _Naglfari_ began to lift, Auroq casually landed on the deck next to her. "Pardon my inference, my Archon, but I seem to remember Salendrid drawing his pistol only _after_ Lady Arataire was killed."

Archon Irons leaned back in her chair, the blood coating her pallid skin making her smile seem that much more wicked, "There was a lot going on, Auroq. Perhaps you were just confused."

He smirked knowingly, "Perhaps I was."

The Archon spread her legs and placed the stock of her blaster between them against the seat, it's throbbing, darklight tip pointing right at the veteran warrior's chest, "Or perhaps I'm just a damn good shot. And you would do well to remember it before you speak of such things again."

Auroq froze for a moment before bowing deeply, stepping so far back he nearly fell off the skimmer.

* * *

Lieutenant Saunders pulled his vox off while his men watched in detached confusion. Gamma squad was still gone and they were wasting precious time. As he applied the blessed sacrament to his transmitter with a good firm smack, the sound of a ship landing in the far distance rumbled through the chamber.

"Damn it!" he said, nearly dropping the vox-caster.

"Lieutenant, I think we better move," Sergeant Cole said.

"I think you're right," he replied. "Beta squad, stay here and hold position until Gamma returns, understood?"

The corporal of Beta squad didn't even bother to get up and gave him a weak salute. Ignoring this insubordination, Lieutenant Saunders reattached his vox-caster. Cole meanwhile rejoined his men, who were just getting comfortable with having a break from the relentless march. "On your feet, lads!" he shouted, pulling one of his men up by his collar, "We gotta double-time it!"

The Lieutenant pointed down the unlit passage before them, "Alpha squad, move out!"

The men took their time until they saw the Lieutenant, data-slate in hand, begin running heels and elbows into the darkness. Realizing this was no joke, the guardsmen immediately hopped-to, dashing after their officer. Sergeant Cole followed Saunders with his lasgun readied, though why he couldn't say. Something just seemed off, there was unease in the air, and it wasn't only the thought of the Inquisition running around. It was like a pall was cast over his mind, some unseen force the Sergeant couldn't describe.

Lieutenant Saunders took a sharp left at a debris pile, following the route Cole highlighted on his data-slate. As they came to the next intersection however, the Sergeant grabbed his shoulder.

"What is it?" Saunders asked, gasping for air.

Sergeant Cole shook his head as his rebreather cleared, "Something feels wrong here, sir."

"A lot of things are going to feel wrong if we don't get to that landing zone."

"That's not what I mean, sir," he replied. "It's like… I sense something. I feel it in my gut, something's not right."

"Now that you mention it—wait," Lieutenant Saunders raised his flashlight with one hand resting on the holster of his laspistol. The men trailing behind were following their Sergeant's lead and held their lasguns at the ready, their torches steadily scanning the corridor ahead of them.

"What is it, sir?" Cole asked.

"I thought I saw something move," he said, eyes squinting into the darkness. "Come on."

"Probably just a servitor on the fritz, sir," one of the men said. "Last week I found one trying to change the oil on a half-buried Chimera."

"Probably…" the Lieutenant replied, but the look on his face said otherwise. Cole followed closely, his lasgun shouldered as though he were scanning enemy trenches. The tunnel narrowed to the width of a hallway as thick cubes of crushed metal closed in on either side, before opening to a wider intersection. The men grew silent now, the dark miasma and claustrophobic walls bearing down on them. Each soldier tread on the balls of his feet, their torches scanning in wide swathes. As they approached the intersection, the Lieutenant raised his hand.

"Lights out," he whispered. A dozen flashlights flickered out as they returned to pitch dark.

"Now I know I feel something, sir," Cole said. "Whatever it is…"

"I'll have a look," The Lieutenant said. "Stay here and watch my back."

In the glow of the data-slate he could see the Sergeant nod. Hand still on his laspistol, the Lieutenant switched his map off and stepped forward into the darkness. There was a faint shuffling ahead and he could hear the soldiers behind him readying their lasguns. Whatever was with them, it wasn't a servitor. Clearing the broadest part of the intersection, the Lieutenant turned down the next passage, peering into the darkness and listening intently. There was something in there. With a flick of the switch, Saunders turned on his torch. The passage was bathed in light, revealing more than a dozen armored bodies. In one swift, even motion, every helmed head turned to face him as weapons raised. There was a chilling moment of silence as the two stared each other down. The Lieutenant had never seen armor like theirs before. They were tall, slender, and adorned in bone white and black plates. The person leading their formation wore a dress of some sort, and every one of them bore the mark of a crying, golden eye.

 _Wait_ , Saunders thought, _a golden eye…_

Taking his hand off his pistol, he slowly waved, "Inquisitors?"

* * *

Yes'ruch watched as the human waved his arm around like the ape he was, oblivious to his grave error. Palmarias was preparing to order the Black Guardians to open fire, his hand slowly moving over his witchblade. She wanted more than anything to unleash a few good shurikens into this slovenly creature herself but her foresight forbade it. Palmarias didn't know about the Dark Kin's presence. He didn't suspect their damage to this undertaking, or just how terribly wrong his plans would go if he murdered these vermin.

" _Palmarias, let me speak with him,"_ she whispered in his mind.

" _Speak with him? Are you mad, Guardian?"_

The human dropped his hand, his expression growing worried as the Black Guardians refused to lower their weapons. Yes'ruch stepped forward from among their ranks, her shuriken catapult aimed at the ground yet held ready.

"You are the Inquisitors I was sent to escort, correct?" the man grunted.

" _What is he saying?"_ one of the other Black Guardians asked.

" _He is asking for a swift death,"_ the Warlock replied. _"And I shall be happy to oblige."_

" _If you kill this mon-keigh, we are all doomed,"_ Yes'ruch insisted.

" _You have some gall making that claim, lost one."_

Mentally biting her tongue, the Black Guardian cleared her throat, "We are."

The human looked bewildered, and for a moment she was afraid she'd said something wrong. Human language wasn't as complex as her own by any stretch of the imagination, but things like inflection and tone still carried weight. The human turned to signal something, his hand still resting on his small firearm. In moments a swarm of armed and armored soldiers trotted out of the darkness, lining up in formation before them and standing at attention. Yes'ruch could sense the Warlock hadn't anticipated there being so many humans, and though she could feel his bitterness in her mind, he did not say anything.

The mon-keigh leader placed his hand on the hilt of his primitive chainsword, "Lieutenant Victor Saunders of the 4063rd Recovery Regiment, reporting for escort duty, ma'am."

The other Guardians stared at her, perplexed as to what was going on. They kept their weapons trained on the humans but she flicked her hand, signaling for them to lower their aim. Yes'ruch took another few tentative steps forward, the Warlock's gaze never leaving her.

"Would you like to inspect the troops, ma'am?" the mon-keigh asked.

"No," she said, "We must leave. Now."

The human furrowed his brow, gestured to what appeared to be his second in command. The lumbering human behind him just shrugged. "Um, very well, ma'am. My men and I would be happy to escort you to the base."

"No, we must reach your landing zone."

"Landing zone? Do you mean landing zone six?!" He glanced back at the other human again, "Didn't you just come from there?"

Sweat rolled down the back of Yes'ruch's neck, "Yes, but… ah, there was debris on the dock. It damaged the ship. We need to make repairs."

The human straightened up as though he were being choked, "On behalf of the 4063rd Regiment and the inhabitants of XGN-T34-85 I personally apologize for the substandard conditions of the landing zone!" he said, words slurring together in a mix of fear and tension.

" _What in Eldrad's name are you doing, lost one?"_ Palmarias demanded.

Ignoring him, Yes'ruch said, "That is fine. We have retrieved the parts from your tunnels," she gestured to the container the two Black Guardians carried behind her, "But we must return now."

"Of course, ma'am." The Lieutenant turned on his heel and addressed his men, "Sergeant Cole, take point and get us to the landing zone."

"Yes, sir!" he said with a salute. He turned around and the men followed suit, their heels clicking on the rockcrete floor as they tried their best to march in step. The Lieutenant hung back, waiting for their escort to follow.

" _What… what just happened?"_ one of the other Guardians asked.

" _The humans have accepted us as their superiors and are offering to lead us to our destination,"_ she replied.

" _This is…unusual,"_ another said.

" _The strands of Fate are whimsical today, but I shall not question Providence,"_ she replied, following after the mon-keighs.

" _You are not one to talk of Fate, lost one,"_ the Warlock said as he strode beside her, sending a wave of disgust through her mind. _"These mon-keigh have witnessed our presence and must die, whether here or there it makes no difference."_

" _Shall they? Is that your mission, Palmarias? Lead us all into these catacombs under the pretense of stopping a Necron tomb world, only to have us murder a handful of mon-keigh instead?"_

He turned to face her, the psyker's withering glare piercing through his helmet and burrowing into her soul, _"You dare mock me? Your petty fortune telling will be the death of us all!"_

Yes'ruch could feel the heat rising in her ears but said nothing. The other Black Guardians however whirred with psychic energy, their minds on fire with the feud going on between the two as well as the excitement. They weren't just infiltrating a human installation now, they were infiltrating their _ranks._ This was the type of skulduggery that made for glorious tales on the craftworld, stories that inspired the younger ones and kept them along the Path. Even as the Guardians psychically murmured to one another, Yes'ruch's keen hearing caught the whispers of the human soldiers ahead of them:

"Inquisition! Why weren't we told we'd be escorting Inquisitors!?"

"Keep quiet and tuck that shirt in. By the Throne, I'm glad I cleaned my uniform yesterday."

"They don't look like any Inquisition I've ever seen. How do we know they're legit?"

"You see those rifles? You wanna be the one to ask 'em go ahead."

The Lieutenant hung back with the Black Guardians, though every time he got too close one of them would raise their rifle. In what he tried to pass for a conversational tone he said, "Once again I am deeply sorry about the state of the landing zone, we haven't used the larger bays in decades. I hope the damage wasn't too bad."

"It is insubstantial," Yes'ruch said.

"I could hail our servitors for assistance at the next wired vox-box if you don't mind waiting. The repairs would-"

"No, lead us to the landing zone. Now."

The mon-keigh gave a firm nod and shouted, "Sergeant Cole, pick up the pace."

The Sergeant looked back with a worried expression, "Yes, sir." As the group changed from a march to a trot, his head jerked forward, obviously signaling the Lieutenant to come speak with him.

Ignoring his request, the human commander turned back to Yes'ruch, "If I may ask, what brings the Inquisition all the way out here?"

" _I demand you cease conversing with this primitive beast, his prattle wears on my nerves,"_ Palmarias said.

The Guardian looked at the Warlock, then turned back to the human, "Xenos."

"What? Do you mean…" he lowered his tone, "Like an invasion?"

"You already have been invaded," she replied. "Their lair stretches beneath the surface of this moon, deep into the crust."

"By the Emperor…" he said, voice trailing off in slight but growing horror. "How did this happen without us knowing? We should have seen the ships, or heard their comms, or something!"

The Black Guardian raised her hand, "These beings have slept for millions of years. Their presence is ancient. We have come to dismantle them before they become a threat."

The mon-keigh scratched the back of his neck like… well, a monkey. His mind couldn't seem to comprehend what she was telling him, at least not this quickly. Yes'ruch almost felt a little sorry for them, these lowly creatures were so easily led astray from their own principles that she hardly needed to resort to deceit.

" _I will tell the council of this treachery, lost one,"_ the Warlock said, his mind clawing hers. _"Your indulgence of these vagabonds only cements our concerns as to your loyalty."_

The Guardian turned to Palmarias, desperately fighting the urge to train her shuriken catapult on him instead, _"I pray we survive for you to share your concerns, Warlock, for you do not understand the razor's edge we tread."_


	8. Hanger 18 or um, 6

The Guardsmen marched down the dark corridor with the Inquisitors in tow, their torches flickering off the occasional oil spill and discarded bits of metal lining the walls. Sergeant Cole tried to keep them in formation, which for any other Guard unit would have been shamefully uncoordinated, but for the 4063rd almost passed as lockstep. Lieutenant Victor Saunders hung towards the back and looked expectantly at the Inquisitors, waiting for them to say something about the squad, the conditions of the tunnels, their reason for coming, _anything_. They remained quiet though, their faceless masks as cryptic and unearthly as their gliding stride. After minutes of silence, Saunders went to check in with his second in command at the front of the line, leaving them to their pensive stares.

Marching beside the Sergeant he whispered, "I think there's something strange about those Inquisitors, Alexander."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" he replied, matching his officer's hushed tone.

"Of course."

"I think they're lying."

The Lieutenant nervously adjusted his hat, "Lying about what?"

"Dunno, but they're not being straight with us, sir. I have a feeling in my gut, it's telling me something bad is going to happen… and they are leading us right in the middle of it."

Saunders dipped his head a bit, the brim of his hat shielding his expression from the rest of the men, "This uh… is it one of _those_ feelings?"

"Yes, sir. Strongest I've ever had."

"Damn it."

"And I think they know, sir."

"What!?"

Sergeant Cole looked over his shoulder at the one that addressed them earlier. Her tall helmet was looking directly at him, and Victor swore he could almost see her face through the bone-colored material. "It's like a static in my head. I can't explain it but there's no shaking the feeling," Cole muttered.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"There's not much we can do, is there?" he replied. "We have our orders. I say we go along with them, but we have to inform the Colonel when we get the chance."

The Lieutenant nodded, and as the formation rounded a corner he caught a brainwave. They were right outside landing zone five and in spite of its decrepit state some of the facilities still worked. Seeing this was as good an opportunity as any, the Lieutenant left the formation, approaching a metal box with a dim red light glowing on the front. As he did, every single smooth, Inquisitorial helmet turned in unison to watch him.

"What are you doing, sir?" Cole asked.

"I want to check in on the other squads, it'll just take a moment."

One of the Inquisitors stepped forward, her hands gripping her gun, "Other squads?"

"Yes, we left some men to record the changes in the tunnel system," Saunders replied. He pulled the little door open and, slate in hand, punched in the nearest vox-box to where he'd left Beta squad. A faint buzzing through the line indicated the system was connecting.

The female Inquisitor looked back at the one in the dress as her companions began to raise their weapons. Nervous tension filled the Lieutenant as he held the data-slate, waiting for an answer on the other end. Meanwhile, the two faceless Inquisitors stared at each other, not saying a word. They looked like they were sizing each other up and something unspoken was being exchanged, he was sure.

At last the woman turned around again, "We must proceed."

"I need to get a sit-rep from my men. I'm not going to leave them in the dark… literally."

A click sounded on the other end, "Corporal Dillon here."

"Corporal, it's Lieutenant Saunders," he said, watching the Inquisitors become visibly more and more agitated. "We've acquired the package and we're on our way back. Has there been any word from Gamma squad?"

"No sir, though all's quiet here."

"Alright," the Lieutenant turned away from pack of watchful eyes and pretended to adjust with the wiring, "Listen, I need you to make your way back to base. Tell Colonel Bradley and Commissar Jacobson the Inquisitors are here and that we're escorting them _as ordered._ "

"Yes, sir."

A ferocious battle cry was heard in the distance followed by the rumble of a dozen engines. At once the Inquisitors' heads snapped in the direction of the far corridor leading towards the next landing zone. The one in the dress looked momentarily confused, glancing back and forth between their fellows and the direction of the racket. All of Alpha Squad gripped their lasguns nervously, their eyes on their Sergeant who was still watching the Inquisitors.

"Sir!" the vox spat.

The Lieutenant flicked the antenna up on the vox-box and tapped the transmitter on his rebreather. "Corporal, get back to base immediately! We're under attack!"

"Yes, sir!" The Corporal shouted.

The Inquisitor who addressed him before raised her gun in the air, "The xenos will soon awaken, we have little time! You must take us to the landing zone."

Saunders felt the color drain from his face, "You can't be serious! There's… only two combat squads between us, against how many?"

"Thousands sleep beneath—"

" _Thousands!?"_ The Lieutenant began to back away, "We have to get back to base while we can."

The Inquisitor shook her head, visibly agitated "That is not an option."

"Our Imperial protocol is clear, we have purging systems in place for just such occasions. We can flush the tunnel system and choke the bastards—"

As the two of them argued, the other Inquisitors grew more and more agitated. Unbeknownst to their only outspoken member, her companions began running down the corridor towards the sounds of battle. Deep rumbles of distant explosions sent trails of dust wafting down around them from the thick ceilings. The remaining Inquisitor looked up at the bits of rockcrete falling on her armor, then swiped in frustration at the Lieutenant, "A vacuum purge of your primitive caves will not impede these monsters, mon-keigh," the Inquisitor spat.

"And just what will…wait," Saunders eyes narrowed, "Mon-keigh?"

"I knew it," Cole said, stepping forward with his lasgun shouldered. "You're not Inquisitors, you're a bunch of damned xenos."

One by one, all of Alpha Squad began to aim their lasguns directly at the offending Inquisitor. She stepped away, circling the encroaching Guardsmen until her back was to the corridor, then she fled. Her speed shocked Victor, he'd never seen man or beast move so swiftly. It seemed to take Cole by surprise too, but after a moment both regained their composure. Glancing at each other, they shouted in unison, "AFTER THEM!"

The Guardsmen sprinted down the tunnel, their torches shining in every direction as they trailed the fraudulent Inquisitors. It was at this time the Lieutenant, in spite of everything that was going on, realized just how out of shape living under this rock had made him. The stitch in his side pulled him down as the men darted ahead, and one by one the enlisted joined him in holding their sides or wheezing while trying to keep pace. The false Inquisitors were well into the distance, barely visible at the edge of his high intensity torch. Sounds of battle reverberated off the walls and they began to smell smoke. The unmistakable clatter of bolter shells pinged across the stone cavern. Then, as quickly as it came, the violence seemed to drift away, as though the battle were flowing through the mechanical catacombs.

"Move, move, move!" Saunders cried, drawing his weapons.

The soldiers picked up the pace all they could. Those that fell behind seemed to catch their second wind as the squad clattered their way towards the landing zone. When the tunnel widened the Lieutenant halted short, the light from the open hanger doors illuminating a grizzly spectacle. Bodies both human and alien lay strewn about. Craters and bolter holes pock-marked the walls as cooling melta streams smoked from divots in the floor. A magazine of bolter rounds cooked off in a smoldering fire, sending bits of debris flying through the air.

Sergeant Cole pointed to one of the corpses, its body torn apart by bolter fire. The ornate but thin plates it was covered with were mostly shredded, revealing the nature of the creature. "Eldar," he spat.

The Lieutenant looked back to the Inquisitors who seemed to have given up all attempts at subterfuge. The one in the dress was shouting in a disgusting alien dialect at the female who addressed them previously, his venomous tone seemingly magnified by his graceful gestures with his sword. She responded in kind, her gun barrel pointing to one disheveled corpse after another. As her barrel turned to a husk of Ecclesiarichal power armor, Cole nudged him.

"I suppose we know what happened to the real Inquisitors."

The Lieutenant swallowed hard, "Same thing damn nearly happened to us."

"What are you thinking, sir?"

"We need to purge the tunnels. Who knows how many more Eldar are in here?"

The Sergeant smiled and with a flick of his wrist the Guardsmen collectively began to back away, sliding into the darkness of the tunnels without a sound. The Lieutenant couldn't help but watch the xenos' argument, his eyes squinting to make out what was going on as he moved further and further away. The one in the dress wielded a glowing sword, its elegance something that defied any power sword he'd ever seen. He wondered how such an impractical and flimsy looking weapon would fare on the battlefield. As he backed away, the female Eldar looked directly at him once more, as though she could see through the darkness into his eyes.

" _Do not leave."_

Saunders stopped and raised a hand to his temple. His head was swimming, it felt like he'd just fallen backwards out of a chair. Cole did the same thing, rubbing the side of his head with his fingers. "Did you hear something?" he whispered.

"Yeah," the Lieutenant replied, "Anyone else?"

The other Guardsmen shook their heads, "Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes, let's keep moving," he said.

One of the Eldar pacing around the landing zone accidentally stepped on a shard of glass, one of many that littered the floor. It popped, emanating a fine mist and causing the creature to jump back in shock. The one in the dress, their apparent leader, shouted something at the idle xeno. Then, all at once, they became still and silent. Saunders strained to hear what was going on. He caught the sound of cracking rockcrete and ticking metal but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. A bit of dust trickled from the ceiling and the Eldar flew into a frenzy, pushing bodies out of the way and unpacking that large crate they were carrying. Inside were tools, as they said, but also a strange device. It was a cylinder with a large piston in the middle and a glowing central chamber. Saunders thought it looked plasma based, but the xenos' rudimentary technology made it impossible to know for sure.

The Eldar soldiers surrounded the workers as they hastily began assembling whatever the device was. He caught sight of the occasional shadow darting to and fro behind them, just at the edge of the light. In spite of the darkness, the Eldar tracked their targets with precision, the muzzles of their short guns keeping up with their unseen enemy. Saunders' felt a smirk cross his face, maybe the Inquisition was back to clean them up. The Eldar leader wielded his glowing sword once again and they opened fire. It was nearly silent, their guns spitting out an array of shimmering disks rather than shells or las shots, striking their foes in the dark recesses with hardly a whisper.

It was only then that the Lieutenant saw their foe. A swarm of bugs flew and skittered towards them, surrounding the xenos like a tide. They didn't look like the roaches or other vermin that Saunders had encountered in these tunnels. They were enormous, with glowing stripes of green shining off their gunmetal carapaces. The Eldar continued frantically assembling the device which, alarmingly, was more and more taking on the appearance of a bomb. The rumble beneath him continued as the metal scarabs poured from every orifice of the complex. Eldar warriors drew into a tight formation around the bomb, their shoulders pressing against one another, desperately firing their shurikens into the amassing insects in an attempt to stave them off.

"By the Emperor, what are those things?!" Cole shouted. His entire squad stood still, their lasguns drooping from their limp hands as they stared with mouths agape at the spectacle.

"It's a sabotage," Victor shouted, pushing the closest man down the tunnel. "They're planting explosives, we have to get out of here!"

Cole grabbed the Lieutenant by the shoulder, "Sir, we need to stop them!"

" _Help us, the enemy awakened!"_

The Lieutenant dropped his laspistol and grabbed his head, the wooshing sensation returning. Cole looked just as shaken, sweat beading around his crown. "Curse these witches," he growled.

The swarm of metal insects grew thicker, their buzzing turning into a deafening thrum, radiating around them. The Lieutenant continued to move away, terrified of the building chaos. He picked up his laspistol and kept it ready in case the scarabs should notice him and his men, but they seemed entirely fixed on the Eldar. "Now's our chance, Sergeant, let's go!"

Cole gave his head a quick shake, clearing his senses, "Right behind you, sir."

" _If you leave us, this moon and the entire system shall burn."_

The Lieutenant dropped to one knee, his head throbbing in pain as the words forced themselves through his mind. It was like a seizure or electrocution every time the damnable witch spoke to him. Cole pulled him up, his own hands trembling, but the look on his face told Saunders it wasn't from fear.

"You heard that?" the Sergeant asked.

"I… yeah, I did," the Lieutenant replied.

"What are your orders?"

The Lieutenant clutched his weapons in his hands, both of which were a bit numb. He looked at the swirling mass of insects, wondering how long these creatures lived beneath the rock, right under their very noses. How could he have been so negligent? Eldar sneaking into the base was one thing, it is what their kind is known for, and they are to be flushed out like a fox from the bush. But these metal… things were unlike anything he'd ever seen, and there was no end to them. Perhaps, he thought, the Eldar wasn't lying. What if thousands more crept beneath their feet, awakened now after millennia of slumber? Could his regiment survive against them? Were the Eldar here to eliminate them, or was their plan to purge the entire planet, human and construct alike?

"Sir!?"

Lieutenant Saunders wetted his lips, his throat clenching tight around the orders he knew he eventually had to give. He was a desk officer, his job was to file paperwork and report to staff meetings. His shoulders weren't meant to bear the weight of human lives. He glanced down the dark tunnel behind them, then back toward the frantic battle between the Eldar and the encroaching scarabs. He was scared, the shaking in his hands betraying the gesture as he slowly raised his chainsword.

* * *

The slave pits of the Cult of Claws were everything a Succubus could ask for when it came to preparing the most dangerous and outlandish beasts for the slaughter of the arena. For every clawed fiend and pack of warp beasts kept in containment, there were dozens of warriors of the lesser races locked up. These creatures were not tormented and starved to the same extent as most Dark Eldar prisoners but rather kept in prime physical condition so as to better their performance before the roaring spectators. Erinyes perused this zoo with enthusiasm, she's always had a soft spot for exotic creatures. Ork Nobz, myriad humans breeds, and even samples of Tyranids were safely kept in their own separate enclosures.

Chariath approached her from down the hall, still wearing her modified wych suit in spite of her newly elevated position, "I hope you find our assortment to your satisfaction."

Archon Irons gave a slight nod in reply. She had long since replaced her tattered robes with something much more fitting of her title, especially as the sponsor of a Wych Cult. A new, long purple gown sewn into her dark blue breastplate skirted her legs, with long pauldrons still jutting from her shoulders like wings. She casually strolled towards the Succubus, her slender, long-heeled boots ticking on the metal floor. Although she presented a relaxed composure, inside she was bursting with excitement to see what her Wrack, or as she referred to him, her Haemonculus, had done with her new acquisitions.

"Please take me to Glaucon. I wish to check on his progress," she said.

"Of course, my Lady." Even though she was now in command of the entire Cult, Chariath seemed to remain unchanged; from her outfit to her cold demeanor to her weapons. The oversized lightning claws still hung on her belt, though now a bit more tailored to her size. The Archon was impressed with her restraint, such a trait was rare indeed amongst the Wyches. Most would have taken this opportunity to do away with potential rivals or begin expanding their influence even further, but the new Succubus merely bided her time as though her position was secure from birthright.

"Tell me, Succubus, are you a trueborn?" Erinyes asked. "I mean no impropriety but such things must be known in court politics."

"No."

"I see," she said, a bit taken aback. Her short answer made Erinyes wonder if the issue was sensitive.

The Succubus turned to her, her cold, brown eyes drilling through her own, "You have questions."

Regaining her composure, Archon Irons ran a hand through her hair, tossing it back as though to remove all imposture, "I do, your demeanor is not what I would expect from a member of a Wych Cult."

Chariath's glared at her for a moment, "I am not a Wych by choice."

"Really?" she replied. "Judging from our fight, Succubus, I would say you have found your calling. Your form is exquisite."

"Save your pleasantries," she said, the words ringing as they echoed off the long metal hallway. "I fight in the arenas because I must."

"And what would you rather do?"

"Kill."

The Archon blinked and cocked her head to the side, nearly losing step with the imposing Wych.

Chariath glanced at her, then returned her gaze to the hall, "In the arenas I fight for sport, with needless flair and style. In my youth I wished to become an Incubus. To join a shrine and their prestigious lineage. To master the art of the kill." She tightened the grip of her armored gauntlet, "No pointless acrobatics, just murder. The art of taking a life."

Archon Irons raised an eyebrow, "A worthwhile endeavor."

"Indeed."

She grinned, "Is that why you wear those heavy plates?"

The Succubus looked down upon her armored half, the weighted armor far stronger than any those of any other arena combatant, "It is a meager consolation."

"So why not join a shrine?"

"The tale is long," Chariath waved her hand towards a nearby holding chamber, "And we have arrived. Go and see what work your Wrack has done."

Erinyes had to admit that prying more details from the Succubus later would be far more entertaining than attempting to get it all at once. It gave her a chance to simmer in the speculative details. With a slight bow she excused herself and entered the chamber. It was dark inside, the only light coming off an amber control console and a viewing screen into another darkened room. She found Glaucon tapping at the controls with the mon-keigh visible behind the transparent one-way screen. A haze was barely visible in the air of their containment cell as the female humans sat against the wall, slack jawed and murmuring.

"Tell me what you have, my Haemonculus," Archon Irons purred as she approached the viewing portal.

Glaucon waved his hand over a few glowing sensors. Inside the chamber, atmospheric control systems began injecting more of the gas and in moments the mon-keigh were on their feet, hands balled into fists and looking around wildly. "My Archon, I have found these particular mon-keigh do not possess the genetic modification typical of those we find wearing power armor."

"I see," she said in a low tone, looking the crazed humans over. "So you are saying they will make poor fighters?" She reached for a slim metal case in her hip pouch, "Disappointing."

"Quite the contrary, my Archon, they could prove invaluable." He gestured to them through the screen, "Look at their visceral reactions to the gas, their minds are extremely malleable." He tapped a button on the controls and another puff of phantasm gas was released, causing the mon-keigh to screech in fright. "Without that conditioning, these creatures are susceptible to our influence."

"Just what are you suggesting, Glaucon?" the Archon asked, her brow furrowing.

"Observe…" He grabbed a goose-neck microphone installed in the panel and spoke into the room using the horrid alien dialect, "My children, this is your Emperor."

All at once the Sisters in the chamber began to gasp and scream in exhilaration. "I can hear His voice!" cried one.

"Let me praise Your name!" said another.

Glaucon's voice lilted with glee, "My children, I have not abandoned you."

"PRAISE HIM!" they shouted.

"But one amongst you is a traitor!" he said sternly, "A heretic that brought you into this snare trap."

The humans looked around, their legs wobbly from exertion but with eyes fierce.

"There! That one, with the black hair. She is the one who led you astray."

The singled-out mon-keigh backed away as her four companions descended upon her, bludgeoning her with fists and curses almost immediately. For a handful of unarmed aliens, the violence was spectacular.

"Yes, purge the heretic!" Glaucon shouted before turning off the microphone and giving a hearty laugh.

Archon Irons pulled a cigarette from the case and watched with pleasure as the mon-keigh viciously tore their companion apart. After only a minute nothing remained but a pulpy mess, the remaining humans drenched in blood and sweat. Shaking her head, she turned from the screen, "I see, this bloodsport is good progress. However, I need my donations to fight in the arenas, not murder each other in their holding pens."

"Oh my Archon, this is bigger than that!" He turned the gas off and the humans slowly returned to their sedentary state. "With their religious fervor and my careful administration of hallucinogens, we can mold them into unquestioning slaves, shock troops, bodyguards, anything we want."

"You cannot be serious," Erinyes sneered. "I would sooner enlist a Parched than a mon-keigh in my ranks."

"These mon-keigh believe I am their god speaking to them!" He walked away, his fingers drumming against his metal claw, "I could sculpt their flesh into whatever form needed. Grotesques with the undying zealotry of these foolish apes, warriors with absolute loyalty, anything…"

Archon Irons lit her cigarette and watched as the Wrack paced around the chamber, muttering to himself about his self-indulgence and the grandeur of being considered a god. When he finally realized she was still in the room he snapped out of it and stood at ease with his head low as though he were about to be reprimanded. Instead, the Archon grinned mischievously.

"You are beginning to sound more like a Haemonculus already," she said, taking a puff.

"I uh, yes ma'am."

"How long will it be before we can utilize these creatures?"

The Wrack walked over to the panel and shook his head, "There is, unfortunately, one outstanding issue. Application of the treatment renders the subjects rather… dazed."

"Well you _are_ drugging them up to their eyeballs, Glaucon. I would expect there would be side effects," Erinyes quipped.

"Yes, my Archon, and with further refinements I might be able to yield better results, however they will never be perfect." He gestured to the mon-keigh in the chamber, each with blank stares and slouching shoulders. "In order to control them, their mental faculties must be retarded."

"So how do we fix this?" she asked, smoke curling around her lips, "The mon-keighs are stupid enough as it is."

"Indeed. The best solution I have would be for them to led by one who was not of diminished capacity. Someone with them in the field who could make decisions and react without dulled senses."

"I see," Erinyes said, staring knowingly at the Wrack.

"What? What are you giving me that look for?"

She pointed the glowing tip of her cigarette at him, "Nothing, God Emperor."

"Oh no, no no no, that won't work. My Archon—"

"What's the matter, Glaucon? It was your idea."

The Wrack shook his hands in front of him, "You don't understand, my Archon, I couldn't if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

He turned to the panel again and double-checked the atmospheric controls, "Getting these crazed humans to hear voices in their heads is one thing, but getting them to ignore a hostile physical presence, much less _see me_ as their god, is another altogether. It would require me to administer so much of the drugs… at that point they would basically be vegetables."

"So what you are saying is they are still going to lash out at you."

"Yes, unfortunately."

The Archon put a firm hand on his shoulder, "I could always make you look more like a corpse. That is what they worship, correct?"

"Yes, ah, I mean no thank you, my Archon, I uh—"

"So, your solution then?"

Glaucon wrung his hands as the Erinyes released him, "I am trading off cognitive skills for control by doing this, and they would never trust an Eldar, at least not one they can see. The best solution is to find use clear-headed mon-keigh to act as a proxy, one we can control without the hallucinogens who will then command the pacified troops for us."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

Glaucon leaned against the control panel, exasperated, "I'm a surgeon, my Archon, not a diplomat. Besides, courting an arrangement with a mon-keigh would surely overstep my bounds in your Kabal. Such a thing would surely be trivial for one of your standing."

Erinyes drew a long breath from the grave lotus cigarette between her fingers, "Mm hmm. And pretending to be a pagan god, and killing one of my acquisitions, and telling me to use this mon-keigh filth in my Kabal, that didn't overstep any bounds?"

"Uh... my… my Archon?" he said, backing away slowly.

She stepped towards him, her cigarette casting a faint orange hue across her face in the darkened room, "Are you sure you're not _afraid_ , Glaucon? These humans are ferocious, look how quickly they dismembered one of their closest comrades." She stood right next to him, blowing smoke against his mask, "Imagine trying to convince one to work for us. Telling them to fall on their own sword, to throw their own Sisters into the line of fire, I bet they would try to slay you on the spot."

"My Archon, I never implied that I—"

"And yet you think I'd be better suited for this task?" She picked him up with one hand and pressed his metal face against the screen, "You already know what would happen if they met their god, Glaucon. Just what do you think they might try to do to me."

"Archon Irons! Please, no! I meant no harm! I just…"

"You just what?"

"I wanted to experiment."

Erinyes released him and the Wrack slid down the screen, his clawed hand marring the surface with a horrid sound. "I approve of your experiments and your enthusiasm, Glaucon, but in the future do be sure to get my approval before assuming the form of a deity or slaying my arena contributions. The last thing I need is a power-mad Wrack running around with a legion of mon-keigh at his beck and call."

"Yes, my Archon, I'm sorry."

"Good," she flicked the cigarette, scattering ashes onto the floor. "Now then, about that leader we require. Is that loudmouthed bitch who assaulted me still alive?"

"Oh, um… yes, she's in solitary confinement. She was being… difficult."

Erinyes waved a hand towards the humans, "Whip up one of those Grotesques you were talking about, Haemonculus Glaucon, and have it sent to my throne room."

Glaucon began wringing his hands in anticipation as much as anxiety, "Y-yes, my Archon. I will get started at once!"

"Be creative with it, I want a truly freakish spectacle." The Archon took another long draw, "Then send up the contemptible wench. We will see if she can't be broken."

* * *

The Necron scarabs zig-zagged across the ground, feeling out every inch of landing zone. Yes'ruch stood shoulder to shoulder with her comrades, the other Black Guardians firing with precision into the foe. The scarabs were mindless, combing the ground of this alien landscape and searching for organic material, transmitting all their data back to the heart of the tomb world. It was only a matter of time before the signal was sent to awaken the vanguard of Necron warriors.

As the demolition charge was set in place, one of the Guardians was attacked by a flying scarab. Its razor sharp legs buried themselves into his leg, tearing the armor away as he clumsily smashed it with the butt of his catapult. Yes'ruch shot the creature but another immediately took its place, its flaying pincers digging into the helpless Guardian once more. He cried out in pain, frantically smashing the Necron as she grabbed him, pulling him back into the group. At last the insect cut clean through his leg, a thick smear of blood trailing behind him as he fell backwards, free of the scarab's grasp.

"It is too late, we must get out of here!" one of the Black Guardians shouted.

"No, finish the device," Yes'ruch replied.

A powerful wave of psychic energy struck her and she nearly dropped her gun, "I am in command of this mission, lost one." The Warlock turned to the other Guardians, "We are leaving."

Yes'ruch fired into the scarabs once more, "We cannot leave, this moon will—"

"This moon will be overrun, as will this entire system. So we shall leave these humans to their fate and prepare to defend our Maiden Worlds."

The Black Guardian shook her head, "You are condemning our people to death, Palmarias."

The Warlock ignored her and instead drew several runes from his pouch. They began glowing at his touch, flying around him as he started wielding the psychic energy of the Runes of Battle. Beside him, another Black Guardian was tackled to the ground by a scarab, the armor on his chest being ripped open by the needle-thin legs of the Necron. Yes'ruch fired her shuriken catapult, severing the metallic bug in two. The Guardian grabbed his weapon and pulled himself to his feet, the wound on his chest bleeding down his armor. As soon as he stood, another collapsed. The Guardian with the missing leg held his catapult out with a shaking hand, firing potshots into the swarm as his wound bled out.

The situation was growing dark. Palmarias might be able to conceal their retreat with his powers, but leaving now meant abandoning the system. Yes'ruch gritted her teeth, he could not fathom how much was at stake in such a simple mission, and his refusal to listen to her guidance only cemented their failure. Countless Eldar lives were going to be forfeit if they did not plant this one demolition charge. She looked over at the device; it was nearly complete, but the Black Guardians had abandoned it to fight for their lives. She cursed the Fates for letting such a simple device stand between life and death for so many. As she sunk another shuriken into a Necron, Yes'ruch said a silent prayer before reaching out through the warp.

" _Humans, the foe has overrun us, our lives are forfeit. Ignite our charges and collapse the tunnels. It is the only way to save your system."_

There was no response, there never was from humans. Palmarias gestured towards one of his runes and the entire squad was enveloped in a psychic veil of black. With his witchblade in hand, the Warlock began cutting his way through the swarm in the direction of the webway gate with most of the Black Guardians in tow. Yes'ruch threw the one who lost his leg over her shoulder, his armor having sealed the worst of the wound. He was still groggy from blood loss and could barely hold on. She tried to follow the group, but between dodging the insects and carrying an extra person it was too much. She fell behind, only to see Palmarias struck down by a flying scarab. He brought his witchblade to bear, slicing the creature in two, but it was just enough of a pause to allow the rest of the swarm to coalesce around their retreat.

"The charges…" the Guardian on her back whispered.

Yes'ruch looked over at the bomb lying on the ground.

"Set me down… let me finish…"

She hustled over to the demolition charges and set the Black Guardian down gently. His leg was still oozing blood in spite of his self-healing armor. With groggy motions he began connecting the drive piston into the main core, building the device with painfully slow and fumbling hands. Yes'ruch knelt down and lent a helping hand, putting the sequencer in and connecting the trigger mechanism.

"Almost…" the Black Guardian collapsed onto the device, knocking an antenna off. Yes'ruch reached to pick it up but a scarab landed on it, eating the strip of metal as though it were a string of pasta. She drew her catapult and destroyed it, but it was too late, and her position was no longer concealed beneath Palmarias' energy. A dozen scarabs hurried towards her, their clicking legs and chattering noises resonating in her ears. Standing up, she reached out with her hand and felt the Warp flow through her.

"First rank, FIRE!"

A volley of las-fire sent the scarabs flying backwards, exploding into pieces as the shots ripped their metal bodies apart.

"Second rank, FIRE!"

Another volley cleared a line from the tunnels to the landing zone. The Necrons quickly scrambled to attack, the noisy and bright lasguns attracting them like moths to a flame. One of the humans raised his lasgun and charged forward, the other men following at his back, shooting and stabbing everything in sight. A human wearing a coat, the one who introduced himself as Victor, stumbled forward through the melee, shooting randomly at the scarabs with his pistol while ducking and flinching away from their assault.

Seizing this chance, Yes'ruch immediately returned to the device. With the antenna gone remote detonation wouldn't work, so she opened the manual trigger and began priming the plasma chamber. The bomb started to hum and gave off an intense blue glow that radiated off her polished armor. Meanwhile, the Black Guardians with Palmarias doubled back, feverishly lashing out against the encroaching swarm that barred their way.

As the last timing sequence was programmed, the Victor human approached her, weapons in hand and shaking from head to foot. "Alright," he said, his voice warbling from nerves and fear, "You needed help, here it is. Now how 'bout you tell me what these things are?"

"I will reveal all in time," Yes'ruch replied. "The charges are set, we must escape."

"Escape? What about my men? And the rest of the regiment?"

"I am here to sabotage a Necron tomb world," she said, stepping between the humble mon-keigh and the bomb. "Your installation is inconsequential."

"Sir, we're under fire!" one of the other humans cried.

The nervous Lieutenant turned around and peered into the dark tunnels. Yes'ruch gasped, backing away as she raised her catapult. From the depths came a whirring sound, then a bolt of green energy, followed the horrid squish of a human body being torn to its base materials.

"Fire on my target, men!" a brazen human shouted, plugging the Necron warrior right between the eyes. A dozen more las-shots followed and it fell to the ground like a paperweight. The human sneered but then his expression fell as, glowing las-shot still pocked in its forehead, the Necron stood to its feet again. Several more metallic horrors stepped into the dim light of the landing zone, their eyes now fixed on the Eldar

"Sir, sir did you see that!?" a soldier shouted, his gun shaking in his hands as he tried to aim.

"It just got right back up. Shot'im right in the head!" another muttered in disbelief.

The Lieutenant spun back around, terrified, "Those are… Necrons?"

She nodded frantically, "Their warriors are awakening, we must flee!"

"Men!" he shouted, "Double-time, into the ship, now!"

Yes'ruch grabbed the wounded Black Guardian at her feet, threw his body over her shoulder, and turned to the Warlock. He and the rest of the Black Guardians were still backing towards the tunnels, unaware that Necron Warriors now roamed them freely.

"Palmarias, their warriors have awoken and the charges are set, we must escape!"

She saw him looked over as she began sprinting towards the human ship's loading ramp. The thick hull of the spacecraft was damaged, most likely by the scarabs and from stray shuriken fire, she couldn't tell at the moment. As the last of the humans ran aboard the ramp began to rise. Yes'ruch dove for the rising ledge, only to be pushed off by the boot of one of the contemptible mon-keighs.

"Burn in your own hellfire, witch!" he said. She recognized his close-shaved hair and shoulderguard markings, he was the Lieutenant's second in command.

"Merciless dogs!" she shrieked, falling back against the hard ground and landing on her wounded companion.

The explosives behind her groaned and the driver plunged into the earth, sending cracks radiating out across the floor. Plasma steam began to plume from the vents as it heated up, obscuring the Necrons' approach. The Lieutenant looked at the device with worried eyes and said, "Let them aboard."

The Sergeant did a double-take, "…But, sir, they're xenos."

He whispered in his ear. Something about prisoners and information, her fine hearing was too busy listening for the wind-up of those horrible gauss rifles to bother with the squabbling of mon-keighs. Whatever the case, the Sergeant reluctantly began lowering the ramp. A few scarabs tried to fly onboard only to be shot out of the air by shurikens. Yes'ruch turned around to see Palmarias and the other Black Guardians dragging their wounded towards the hatch. As she and her comrades climbed aboard the Necron warriors rounded the corner, firing their gauss rifles through the billowing steam. The cracking sound of the hull structure being torn away reverberated through the ship.

"Cole, can you fly this thing!?" the Lieutenant shouted.

"I'm gonna find out," he said, charging through the door on the other side of the loading deck.

"Men, return fire, don't let them get to the ship or that bomb!"

Streams of las and shurikens pounded the Necrons as the door slowly closed, providing cover from the punishing gauss shots. Time seemed to slow down as the Necrons plodded forward, their casualties still getting up in spite of the terrible damage inflicted. Yes'ruch pulled a grenade from her hip and chucked it over closing ramp, blowing a crater in the ground where several Necrons once stood. Even with their bodies severed in two the warriors clawed their way towards the sealing ship.

At last the engines fired, the exhaust blasting several warriors off their feet. The Inquisitorial ship groaned as it slowly lifted, reluctant to move after suffering so much damage. The Necrons fell from view as the ramp finally sealed, shutting out the exhaust plume and extreme heat that now filled the landing zone. Everyone on board swayed back and forth as the ship struggled for altitude. Some of the Guardsmen slid across the floor as the entire ship rocked from one side of the tunnel to the other, scraping the sides of the wings as it lifted. Yes'ruch gripped a piece of rigging tight as she heard the atmospheric seals of the landing zone open, followed by the reassuring absolute silence of the vacuum of space.

Everyone in the cargo hold fell silent, the turbulence giving way to a gradual ascent. Then the ship was buffeted by a shockwave that sent them lurching into the air. Alarms sounded as one of the thrusters choked out, causing the port side to dip. The whine of the engine was audible through the atmosphere inside, filling the air with a tremendous screech. Yes'ruch made her way forward, swinging from handgrip to handgrip until she reached the far end of the cargo hold. Forcing the door open, she plunged inside the rudimentary human vessel, towards what she could only assume was the bridge. Disheveled belongings cluttered the tight hallways as she waded through, the swaying motion causing the ship's loosened panels and stray equipment to fly off and litter the floor.

After pushing her way through she emerged in a small room to find the nearly hairless human occupying a seat looking out at the main planet. The moon hung below them, its horizon stretching ever more vertically as the ship listed. The human tugged at the controls, desperately trying to engage the damaged engine. Shaking her head, Yes'ruch pushed him out of the way and began lowering the starboard thrust, bringing the ship back into balance. The dying engine sputtered erratically as they began to leave the gravity well of the planet, the ship's artificial system kicking on and sending a reassuring, weighty chill down her spine.

"The hell do you think you're doing, witch?" the mon-keigh said, reaching for his lasgun.

"Saving your lives, human filth," she replied.

The door behind them swung open as the Victor human stepped inside, a laspistol in his grip. Seeing his companion on the ground, he raised his gun, hands still shaking. "What's going on here?" he grunted.

The fuzzy human stood to his feet with his lasgun still trained on her, "She damn near tried to kill me is what."

Yes'ruch leaned back in the chair, shaking her head at her own terrible misfortune. She and her people were safe, for, in spite of his best efforts, Palmarias' mission was a success. However, as she stared into the barrels of the clumsy mon-keigh weapons, she found herself almost wishing they would pull the trigger and do her in. Her path was now set along the most heinous of outlying possibilities, a frayed thread in the great tapestry of Fate. It was a path she'd seen many times as a Seer and chosen to ignore as simply being too improbable. And yet, here she was, sitting aboard a broken down human vessel, her men wounded, and surrounded by slobbering apes.

The Victor stared at her for a moment before slowly lowering his firearm, "Alright, Eldar, you have a lot of explaining to do."


	9. Sweet Little Sister

Abstract columns reached overhead, suspending archways of chain and cloth that dazzled the eyes in the low light. Erinyes sat discontented on her new throne in this parlor. It was a seat befitting an esteemed guest in the Cult of Claws but it just made her long for her old one all the more. The tapestries crafted by Haemonculi writhed and groaned overhead, their barely alive victims forever stitched together into an obscene display of depravity, while the chain curtains swirled in the air as though light as a feather. One of the Cult's wyches strolled down the hall with her reluctant prize in tow, slinging curses as the chain-link leash tugged on the mon-keigh's neck. Erinyes reached to her side where a goblet of fine, blooded wine sat and swirled it beneath her nose.

As the wych approached she nearly threw the prisoner to the ground. The Archon watched in amusement as the naked mon-keigh choked on her gag, her hands bound behind her as she was brought to her knees by the force of the shove. Sweeping her immaculate blade across the restraints, the wych cut the alien free of her bonds.

"My thanks, and send my regards to your Succubus for entertaining my diversions," Archon Irons said.

"Thank you, my Archon," the wych replied with a bow. She swiftly walked out, closing door behind her and leaving the Archon alone in her quarters with her new pet.

The mon-keigh stared at Archon Irons and rose from her knees, her hands absently rubbing her wrists where her bonds once held. Erinyes watched the alien with intense eyes.

She glared back at the Archon, "Well?"

Erinyes' mouth twitched and she took a sip of wine. She flicked a switch on a small box sitting next to her and addressed the human, "Tell me your name."

" _Tell me your name."_ The words repeated through the contraption in an unnatural tone, spoken in the guttural language of the mon-keigh.

The human stood straight and, undeterred by her surroundings or lack of modesty, proclaimed, "I am Athena St. Claire, Canoness of the Order of the Sanguine Sword."

"I see," the Archon said, her words once again parroted out of the box. "I am Archon Irons, Dignitary and Patron of the Cult of Claws, Master of the Kabal of the Iron Maiden, and prou-"

"I care not for your titles, monster," she growled.

Erinyes nearly spilled her wine, never before had she been _interrupted_ by such a creature. Reaching beside her, she pulled out one of the Cult of Claws favorite toys; an Agonizer. The poisoned whip curled in her grasp as she stood from her throne, the end of it lapping at the air, dripping its toxins onto the floor with a sizzle. The sharp smell of ozone and chemicals hung in the air as the Archon wielded it. With one flourished gesture she whirled it over her head and struck the helpless Canoness. Yelping, she fell to the ground, writhing in pain as the welt immediately began to blister.

"It is rude to interrupt your host," Erinyes said.

The human fumed through gritted teeth but pulled herself to her feet nonetheless. "I am a daughter of the God Emperor of Mankind, you… you're just a scavenger."

Erinyes whipped the belligerent human again, once across the shoulder and again across her back, sending the defenseless mon-keigh back to the floor, screaming in pain. "And here I was, wishing to discuss our terms like civilized species." She lashed the human once more for good measure, "This is what I get for deigning to consort with mon-keighs." She watched the human with glee, the suffering she inflicted filling her with the warm, succulent power of pain.

As the Canoness once more began to stand she spat, "Terms? What terms?"

"The terms of your surrender, of course," Archon Irons replied. "You are a high ranking member of your people's military, correct? Certainly, we cannot expect you to rot in some squalid cell." The small box behind her echoed her every word, and as the mon-keigh listened she seemed to grow more and more confused. "I have a proposition to make, if you are through with your insults."

The Canoness rubbed her wounds, the blood running freely from the laceration on her shoulder. "Proposition?"

"Yes," Archon Irons said, returning to her throne. With a sip of the wine, she sat the goblet back on the table and crossed her legs, "You and your… what did you call them, Sisters? You make fine warriors, too fine, in my opinion, to be wasted on the Arena floor for the pleasure of the gawking masses." She began caressing the edge of the steel handle on her Agonizer, "Such is your skill that I am willing to offer you an alternative."

The human seemed to lower her head, not in submission, but into a darkened glare. The white hair that matted her face was now stained with her own blood and it made her seem somehow grizzlier. "The alternative," she said meticulously, "is my Sisters and I burning each and every one of you xenos to cinders. We shall sing our hymns by the light of your funeral pyres!"

"Oh, I like your style, Canoness," the Archon said, "You've got spunk."

"Wretched witch!"

Another crack of the Agonizer sent the Canoness back to her knees, holding her chest where a running wound now formed. "Temper, temper," Erinyes cooed.

The human bared her teeth in pain and frustration, "We would rather die than have dealings with you."

"Ah!" Erinyes said, "Now you have gotten to the heart of it." As the translator beside her croaked out her sentence she curled a few locks of her ghost white hair between her fingers. "I am afraid, dear Canoness, that your fates are not your own. You see, you and your Sisters belong to me now, and _I decide_ when you live and die."

"We shall never submit to you," she muttered, wiping the blood away from her chest.

"You don't have an option," Erinyes said. "Well, let me rephrase that, _your Sisters_ don't have an option. You, however, do. And what you decide… well, that's what I wanted to discuss." She picked up the goblet of wine again and took a long drink, staring at her pray from over the brim of the cup. "You see, I'm in need of more soldiers, and your Sisters made such fine work of my warriors on that moon, I just had to give you first crack at the position."

The Canoness looked dumbfounded, "You… expect me and my Sisters to fight for you?" She slowly shook her head in disbelief, "You truly are deranged."

"Your Sisters will. They have no choice, thanks to the fine work of my Haemonculus, Glaucon." She finished her wine, the bloody liquid running down the creases of her mouth, "Would you like me to show you?"

The poor befuddled mon-keigh merely furrowed her puzzled brow as the Archon waited for her translator to finish. When she continued to just sit there, Archon Irons raised her hands and clapped gingerly. A low groan filled the room, like a foghorn mixed with a savage beast. From behind one of the living tapestries shambled a Grotesque, its malformed body towering over the Canoness as if she were a child. Features of the human that it once was still remained prominent, but they were distorted and twisted into a fiendish caricature. The Archon sighed, Glaucon truly had outdone himself. It was a genuinely abstract rendition of the former mon-keigh and she knew he took his art seriously.

The Canoness shrieked and backed away from the monstrosity as it entered into the light more. Its hulking body was barely contained within the fragments of power armor that were stitched into its hide. A melta-gun had replaced one of its hands, and in the other, a razor-sharp flesh gauntlet oozed poisons.

"This-what have you done!?" the Canoness yelled.

"Don't you recognize her?" Archon Irons said, leaning forward in her seat. "This was one of your closest sergeants, yes?"

The Canoness' already pale face drained of all color, "S-s-sister Jeena?"

The Grotesque moaned again, then lumbered towards the Archon. Erinyes reached out her hand as the creature approached and caressed the edges of its deformed head. It stood beside her, swaying back and forth as she stroked it like a pet. "Sister _Superior_ Jeena decided she would rather die than serve my Kabal. She took her own life in her cell with a rusted nail." The Archon patted the Grotesque's back, "I was forced to repurpose her."

"You… demonic bitch!"

Without even getting up, Archon Irons lashed her with the Agonizer once more, grabbing her arm with the whip and dragging her to her knees. Blisters raised and popped around the human's wrist where the poisonous strands touched her skin. The Archon smiled as she caught the tell-tale heaving of her chest, the human sow stifling the whimpers of a broken spirit.

"Don't cry, Athena, most of your other Sisters are still fine." She raised her voice, though her tone dropped to a menacing threat, "And your tears will stain the carpet."

The Canoness looked up with wet eyes and a grief-ridden face, "What do you want?" she mouthed, her words almost inaudible.

"Your cooperation," she replied. "To keep your Sisters from doing the same thing as poor Jeena here," she stroked the Grotesque again, "I've had to...medicate them. It's terrifying but harmless."

"Why?" the mon-keigh growled, "Why are you doing this?"

The Archon chuckled, "I can tell someone is new to Commorragh." She looked at the former Sister standing beside her, "Call me sentimental but I enjoy the thrill of seeing soldiers on the battlefield, not a bunch of art projects running amok. Plus there are tactical reasons to consider. Your Sisters are a special breed, one I would like to keep as whole and functional as possible. And for that, I need you to lead them for me."

The Canoness stood again, "You… want me to lead my Sisters to war for you?"

"Well they certainly won't listen to me," Archon Irons said coyly, "no matter how many drugs I pump them with."

"And if I refuse…" she looked at the Grotesque leaning against the throne. The Canoness tried to swallow but found her mouth as dry as sand.

"I think you understand," Erinyes said, a slight grin curling along her lips. "So, do I have your cooperation?"

The dull mon-keigh's face went blank and her gaze fell to the floor between them. Erinyes looked in her eyes and could feel the darkness emanating from her soul. The anguish she inflicted gave sparked a feeling of warmth in her chest as sweet as her wine.

"I have no choice," she said distantly.

"I know!" Erinyes said, clapping her hands together, "Oh but I'm so glad you're choosing to submit willingly. My Haemonculus is already so busy."

The human raised her palms to her face, "God Emperor, why have you forsaken me?"

"Oh come now, your corpse-god hasn't forsaken you," Erinyes said, the translator spitting her words out as she strolled off the throne. "Why, just this morning I was told an entire patrol of your Sisters were dispatched to look for you after your disappearance." She placed her hand on the mon-keigh's shoulder, "Your people are very fond of you."

The Canoness ceased her blubbering for a moment, "You… wait, the Ecclesiarchy is looking for us?"

" _Were_ looking for you, my dear. Were. I made sure the Cult of Claws found them first."

"You animals!" she cried, "What did you do to them!?"

"The same thing we did to you, of course," Archon Irons scoffed. "They're relatively safe, down in our slave pens." She strutted around the mon-keigh who was now trembling, be it from rage or cold or fear she couldn't tell. "Drugged out of their minds, terrified, but physically fine. For now. And thanks to you, they shall continue to be."

The human's mouth dropped open, the crippling realization hitting home as the weight of her decision dragged her to the floor.

"All that remains," the Archon said wistfully, "is for you to return to them and tell them of our agreement."

"They'll kill me," she said. "They'll grant me the Emperor's Peace, which is more than I can say for your kind."

"Oh I don't think so," Erinyes said, "I'll be sending Sister Jeena with you."

With this she waved her hand and the Grotesque scrambled forward, looming over them like a hideous mountain of armored flesh. "Jeena, be a good girl and take your Sister back to the holding pens. Make sure she stays safe and try not to kill anyone."

The monster gave a low burble and grabbed the Canoness' arm with its flesh gauntlet, the metal tearing into her skin as it tugged her forward with its inhuman strength. The mon-keigh screamed as she was taken away, practically dragged out of the room by the moving pile of muscle and bone. Erinyes watched as they left the room, the satisfaction twisting along her face into a depraved smile. The echoes of her shrieks reverberated through the halls as she turned around to look at her throne. Perhaps this arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

The massive face of XGN-T34 lulled in the distance, its horizon taking up more than half the viewing portal of the ship's tiny bridge. The cramped quarters and thrumming engines punctuated by the occasional misfire gave the impression they were aboard a life raft more than a warship. Yes'ruch gripped the armrests of the chair as the bright orange glare of the planet reflected across the room, washing out the dim light the screens provided. As the short-haired human continued his defiant sneer from his seat on the floor, the Lieutenant Victor held his pistol with an unsteady hand.

His chest started to heave and his limbs quaked more and more with each breath. At last he fell backwards, collapsing from the emotional strain onto a metal outcropping. Leaning against the thin shelf, he propped himself up as a gloved hand ran through his hair, knocking his hat to the floor.

"Sir!" the other human said, his gun still trained on her, "Sir, are you alright?"

"No, Sergeant, I…" his hand ran down his face, the leather smearing tears and grease down his cheeks, "I knew Private Buckley since he was first stationed here. Never thought I'd see him go like that. Never… seen a man torn apart like that before."

"I know, sir, but..."

"He just..." his fingers curled, repulsed by his own memory, "by the Throne, he just exploded!"

"Vic, get it together! We have a prisoner!" barked his comrade.

The Lieutenant took several deep breaths that almost sounded like sobs before picking up his hat. Placing it firmly on his head, but still unable to hide the tears welling in his eyes, the Victor human stood straight, "You're right, Alex." With his voice still wavering, he raised his weapon to her once more, "Explain yourself, xeno. What were you doing in an Imperial installation? What were those things that killed my men?"

Without getting up, Yes'ruch turned towards the one he referred to as Alex, "This is your commander?"

The human glared at her but didn't speak.

"He is unwell," she said, gesturing towards him mildly.

She meant it in the most sympathetic of ways, for while the mon-keigh might spread like vermin, even they feel attachment to one another. The humans didn't have warmasks to hide their fragile, simple psyches from the horrors of war the way her people did, and the loss of a comrade in arms was difficult enough without seeing them torn asunder by a terrible Necron weapon. The Victor needed rest, his answers could come later. However condoling her intentions might have been however, it was obvious the subtleties were lost in translation.

The fuzzy-headed human immediately sprung up and shoved the barrel of his weapon in her face, its muzzle tinking off her wraithbone helmet, "Answer his bloody question before I smear your remains across this ship and use your blood as a damn Gellar Field."

"Very well." Placing one finger on the barrel, Yes'ruch slowly pointed the gun away from her, "The creatures you fought were ancient when even our race was young. Their kind has been slumbering, waiting for the opportune moment to awaken and purge this galaxy of all life."

"What was it you called them back on the landing station?" the Victor said, his pistol fidgeting in his grip.

"Necrons," she replied calmly. "Unliving remnants of a past empire and shadows of their former selves, though many times more lethal. Our kind has long warred with them, seeking them out wherever their crypts lurk."

"And how did they get inside our installation?"

Yes'ruch tilted her head towards the human, his poor comprehension wearing on her nerves like a child begging the same question over and over, "One might ask instead how you built your installation without discovering them. They have resided there since before your species crawled out of the slime."

She saw the other human move to smack her with the butt of his gun. Instinctively her hand flew up, catching the weapon in mid-flight and holding it firm. The Alex human attempted to pry it from her grip, striking at her masked face with his hand, only to find himself somersaulted onto the floor, a flex-armored gauntlet gripping his throat as she knelt on his thigh, pinning him to the ground in a rather undignified position.

"Shoot her!" he gurgled, his face scrunched under her grip.

"If I wanted you dead, you would be, mon-keigh," she said. She turned and saw the Victor aiming for her head.

"So why don't you?" he asked, his finger caressing the trigger.

Yes'ruch paused for a moment, her muscles relaxing. The Alex took a sharp breath as her forceful hold eased on his airway. "That is the question," she replied. "In fact, it is the entire reason I am here."

"What in the Emperor's name are you talking about?" he asked, the weapon still clenched in his grip.

"Why do I not want you dead?" she reiterated. "Why did I keep my companions from murdering you in the tunnels? Why did my people risk their lives to destroy a tomb world while leaving your precious installation intact?"

The Victor rubbed his forehead with his free hand, the color draining from his face. "The Uplifting Primer warned me about asking an Eldar questions," he muttered.

The Alex kicked her back, his boot grazing off her armor. Frustrated, Yes'ruch stood up, dragging the mon-keigh with her, and slammed him in the stomach. The human gasped for air as she tore the gun from his hands and hurled it across the bridge.

The Victor fired his pistol, blasting her in the side of her armor. Her reactive plates absorbed the blow, the heat of the weapon warming her side as her once flexible suit became rigid where the beam impacted under her arm. She held her side gingerly for a moment as the human stared in disbelief. Had she the patience of a thousand lifetimes like her ancestors, perhaps she would have been able to control herself, but even one on the Path has their limits. The bile in her throat rose as she stared at the whimpering mon-keigh before her and her vision went red. The one she'd winded was winding up for a clumsy haymaker, in the creature's own vernacular, and at that moment she would have been content to let Palmarias slaughter the whole lot aboard the ship. Wracked with frustration from aliens, Palmarias' incessant condemnation, and perhaps even the Laughing God himself, she unleashed her pent up emotions.

A wave of psychic energy hit the two humans, hurling them to the ground. Both of them held their heads, moaning and clawing at their skulls as she bared her own mental presence down upon them like a can sinking to the ocean floor, cracking and creasing and straining as the pressure built. She could feel their psyches breaking under her supreme will; it was as cathartic as it was exhilarating. Then, as she felt their timid minds tremble beneath her, she released them. The humans rolled on the floor, huddled and seething through their gritted teeth.

Yes'ruch took a deep breath, her exertion was only mild, but she did not like how close she came to ending their lives. She was not on the Path of the Seer any longer and it was dangerous to channel the Warp without the use of runes, no matter how infuriating her present company was.

"My apologies," she said, picking up her shuriken catapult, "I am not usually prone to such outbursts."

"You... heretical witch..." the Victor replied, still lying on the floor.

"In answer to your question, human," she said, ignoring his comment, "No, I do not know why I wish for you to live."

"That's not an answer!" the Alex spat, sitting bolt upright. His recovery was far swifter than his commander's.

"But it is," she replied. "I know not what part you have yet to play, but it shall be important. Just as important as silencing the tomb world beneath your moon."

"How do you know?" he said. "Why should we believe a damn thing you have to say?"

"Because I could have killed you whenever I wanted," she shrugged. "Palmarias wanted to, the other Black Guardians wanted to. The Necrons wanted to. I stopped them."

"I woulda liked to see you try."

"She's right, Alex," the Victor said, hoisting himself into a sitting position. "And it was my fault... I led us into those tunnels, I mistook the Eldar for the Inquisitors, I... helped them blow up our own damn landing zone." He swallowed hard, the sweat running down his face making his complexion ghostly orange in the baleful light of the planet, "I led us right into their hands."

"And it is a good thing, too," Yes'ruch added.

He looked at her with a furrowed brow but just shook his head.

"Had you not," she said, "the same ones who killed the true Inquisitors would have slain you as well."

"The same ones?!" the Alex cried. "Do you think we're blind? Those were Eldar bodies laying beside the dead Sororitas on the landing zone, witch! YOU were the ones who slew them."

"Not us," Yes'ruch said, waving her hand. "We have not known them for over ten thousand years."

"Yeah?" he sneered, "The line's kinda blurry from where I'm sitting."

"They are as much our brothers as your fallen kin."

"You mean... Eldar have heretics?" the Victor puzzled.

Yes'ruch gave a slight shrug, "Is it so difficult to understand? I suppose you could think of it as such. They are predators, hunting all sentient life and stealing it away to their torture dens. A debauch remnant and a lingering disgrace of our former empire."

The two humans sat in silence for a moment. She gave them the benefit of a doubt and assumed they were reflecting on this information, however from their slack-jawed expressions and incoherent mumblings they might have been drifting in and out of a coma. After some much appreciated silence, the Victor finally spoke, "So what now, Eldar?"

"Now, we return to my ship and prepare for whatever Fate will unleash into this living hell to which I have been condemned."

"Your ship?" the Alex chuckled, "You're our prisoners, xeno. The only place you and your people are going is an Imperial prison camp!"

"I find that unli-"

She was interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from the captain's chair. A light flashed on the built in communications relay, its brightness casting a faint red glare on everyone present. The three of them looked at each other for a second before the Victor reached for the button.

A female voice crackled over the speaker in the armrest, "-dentify yourself, you are trespassing in Imperial airspace over a secure installation. We will open fire if you do not comply, repeat, we WILL open fire if you do not comply."

The mon-keighs looked as though they were about to have a heart attack. As the Victor grabbed the headset from the chair, the Alex started scurrying about, flicking switches and bringing up telemetry on the moon below them.

Turning on the comms switch, the breathless Lieutenant yelled, "Sparky! This is Lieutenant Saunders! Don't fire, DON'T FIRE!"

"Lieutenant? What's going on?" the voice replied.

"I'm uhh... we're on board the Inquisitor's vessel."

"We got a massive energy reading over by the landing zone before a huge explosion took out half the tunnel system. The entire base is on lockdown!"

Angry shouting followed by a lasgun shot reverberated through the ship. All three faces immediately turned to the door to the cargo hold, then back to each other.

"Shit…" the Victor said, baring his teeth.

"Sir, what was that?" the Sparky said, her voice fading in and out on the speaker.

"Uh, just a minute, Sparky," the Victor replied. He turned off the microphone and leaned towards the Alex, "Sergeant, get back there and see what's going on. I'll handle this."

"Yes, sir," he replied.

The short-haired human began clomping through the narrow corridor towards his companions and, seeing as how Palmarias' patience was already on a strained leash, possibly his death. Yes'ruch decided it would be best to accompany him to avert any further violence. However, as she moved towards the door, the Victor grabbed her wrist.

"You're not leaving my sight, xeno," he growled.

As he flicked the microphone on again, Yes'ruch twisted her arm free, "I expect your Sergeant will require assistance if you do not want a bloodba-"

"Who is that!?" the Sparky said.

The Victor glanced at her, then spoke up, "Uh, that's the Inquisitor, Sparky."

There was a tense pause of dead air over the comms.

"Sir, Commissar Jacobson is requesting to speak with you."

The human stopped mid-breath. Looking at her, his gaze wandered with searching eyes as he slowly tapped the microphone on the headset, "Alright, put him on."

There was a shuffling over the tiny speaker before a strong, masculine voice filled the room. "Lieutenant, am I to understand that you have in fact boarded the Inquisitorial vessel?"

"That's right, Commissar," he replied.

Another pause followed, and then some background chatter made inaudible by the mon-keigh's pathetic communication technology.

"I would like to speak with one of the Inquisitors, Saunders."

The human turned around slowly, his expression blank. Meticulously he said, "Yes, sir, just one moment." Flicking the microphone off, he stepped away and gestured for Yes'ruch to take a seat.

She shook her head, hoisting the catapult in her arms.

"Go ahead, _Inquisitor_ ," he insisted, his eyes piercing her with the fire and fear of desperation. "He wants to speak with you."


	10. Tumbling Down

Yes'ruch stared at the human as he dangled the headset in front of her, "Why do you want me to do this? I do not know what your Inquisitors are like."

"If you don't, we're all dead anyway," the Victor said, his dour expression unchanged.

The Black Guardian was unsure what ramifications speaking with this "Commissar" would have, but the alien seemed to think they were in dire straits if she did not. Commissars were known to be feared members of the mon-keigh hierarchy, though beyond their apparent disregard for the lives of other humans (a trait she genuinely admired), their tasks and responsibilities were beneath her interest. Taking the comms, she turned the switch on and spoke clearly, "Yes, Commissar, what is it?"

The human on the other end seemed to be taken aback as he fumbled for words, "Inquisitor!? This is Commissar Jacobson of the 4063rd Recovery Regiment. I was informed that you would be visiting our installation here on XGN-T34-85."

"That is correct," she replied.

"To uh, that is, it is my duty to inform you that our sensors have detected an energy pulse near the landing zone you were scheduled to dock at. Such things are fairly common with aging war equipment of course, but there may be damage to the landing pad or atmospheric controls in the area."

Yes'ruch glanced at the human standing next to her and then looked down at the moon below. Although they were now many miles above the surface, the scored hole from the plasma charges along with the zig-zagging trenches where connected tunnels vanished under piles of collapsing rock were clearly visible. "Commissar, we were the ones responsible for that energy pulse."

"Could you repeat that?"

"We detonated charges underneath the landing zone. The tunnels are collapsed."

"What!?" the comms went dead, leaving Yes'ruch sitting there in silence. Beside her, the Victor human looked as though he were about to faint, holding his face in his hands and giving an ill moan.

"…You told him that?" he muttered through his glove.

"A crater visible from space would be difficult to hide, human, why deny it?"

The comms popped to life again, the Commissar's voice firmer, "Why, Inquisitor, did you deem it necessary to annihilate half of our subterranean complex?"

Another male voice yelled in the background, "I'm going to shove their goddamned melta bombs so far up their asses they'll be shitting slag for the next-"

"Clam up, Bradley, or I'll..." there was a shuffling sound, "issue you ten days of probation and… mandatory workplace sensitivity training? Oh, right, they're Sororitas."

"In answer to your question, Commissar," Yes'ruch interrupted, "Your negligent regiment built their installation over top of a... xenos... colony." She tilted her head towards the Victor as if to confirm that her nomenclature was correct but he was too busy massaging his brow and staring into the middle distance to notice.

"Excuse me?" the Commissar replied.

"Your kind knows them as Necrons," she continued. "Had your regiment been up to standard you would have known of their presence and dealt with them sooner. We found their infestation to be severe and initiated quick, decisive action."

"Necrons? Here? That's absurd."

"As far as I can tell, Commissar, the only thing absurd about it is how you and your men are still alive."

There was a brief pause as the human behind her gasped.

"Xeno, do you _want_ them to open fire on us?!" he whispered frantically.

"It would be a mercy at this point…" she replied.

The speaker on the comms crackled for a moment before the Commissar's voice echoed throughout the bridge again, "Inquisitor, are you threatening an Imperial officer?"

"I am saying that, by the size and density of the Necron forces on your moon, you should have been overrun. Our intervention and the work of your Lieutenant Victor saved countless lives."

"Lieutenant Saunders? THAT GUY helped you?"

"What does he mean, 'that guy'?" The Victor said, his indignation apparently overruling his fear for a moment.

Ignoring him, she replied, "Yes, the assistance he and his men gave us was instrumental in averting the attack and neutralizing the threat."

"I uh… I see. Well then, um, we're proud to have sent our best. Might I ask what he's doing aboard your vessel?"

"He and his forces needed to be evacuated before the charges detonated. The Lieutenant Victor and his surviving comrades shall be returning to your installation shortly."

The Commissar grunted, "Surviving? What do you mean surviving?"

"The Necron forces on the landing zone were substantial and we took heavy losses. To be frank, Commissar, if it were not for your Lieutenant Victor's aid we would all likely be dead, yourselves included."

"That… I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" the static of a heavy sigh came over the speaker. "Very well, Inquisitor. I apologize for my harsh tone, but the insinuation was not—"

A lasgun shot came from the cargo area along with fierce yelling. The Victor nudged her on the shoulder and began thumbing frantically towards the door.

"Then do not insinuate with me again, human," Yes'ruch said sternly. "Your negligence cost lives, both your men's and my own. I shall return your Lieutenant Victor to you under orders to improve protocol, and I pray for your sake that I find your men more fit for duty when I return for inspection."

"Yes, Inquisitor, again, my apologies-wait, 'human'?"

Another shot rang out, this one fired into the hallway. A scorched bit of metal was torn from the interior wall, blasting the floor with a shower of heated sparks and bits of debris. The Victor grabbed his pistol and ran through the door, cursing and shouting the entire way.

Yes'ruch leapt from the chair, holding the microphone close to her warmask, "I must go."

"Wait, what's going on in there!?" the Commissar shouted.

"There is no time, Commissar. Walk in the… God Throne's… Golden Terra."

Tossing the headset before he could respond, Yes'ruch bolted out the door, vaulting the detritus that filled the corridor back to the cargo area. As she burst through the doorway she found the mon-keigh sniveling in the corner. One of them was dead. Another was nursing a bruise while the others held their lasguns at the ready. Palmarias stood with his witchblade outstretched, one of the Black Guardians at his side holding a fresh wound. The armor was already beginning to mend it shut, but the other Black Guardians each aimed their shuriken catapults with precision, prepared to mow down the humans.

The Victor tried to wrestle the Alex's lasgun away in a desperate attempt to stop the bloodshed. The two quarreled, striking and beating each other as the other humans watched their foes in nervous apprehension. Yes'ruch steadied her catapult, aiming squarely at the humans, but found herself reluctant to pull the trigger. Every tumultuous emotion in her breast was screaming for action but a voice in the back of her mind, the ever-present whisper she tried in vain to drown out, still came through: _Wait._

Palmarias stepped forward, his blade singing in the air as he twirled it idly, savoring the high of battle, _"I shall kill you all myself and commend your petty souls to the void that birthed your miserable species."_

Infuriated, the Alex wrenched his gun away from his commander's grasp, "I'll give you a void, you witch!"

He fired his pitiful gun, las pulses spraying out as he shot from the hip at Palmarias. The Warlock pulled away, drawing his shuriken pistol as the shots were reflected by his rune armor. As he shot back, the sheen of light across his chest wavered slightly and one of the las shots found its mark, cutting a burning slice into his stomach.

"Look out, Sir!" One of the humans near the Alex shoved him out of the way, the shuriken passing through his own flimsy armor like it wasn't even there. The monomolecular blade tore into his body, through his armor again, and straight into the hull of the ship. Over the human's cries and the growl of the injured Warlock, every Eldar ear caught the tell-tale sound of hissing air escaping into the vacuum of space.

"You killed him," the Alex spat, the corpse of his comrade bleeding into his lap. "You son of a bitch!"

Palmarias reached down to find his stomach freely bleeding onto the metal floor. He pulled his hand back, his wraithbone gauntlet now drenched in his own blood. "Fire!" he cried. "Kill them all!"

The Black Guardians' turned nervously to one another, each acutely aware of what might happen if their shurikens pierced the damaged hull too many times.

The Warlock slammed his bloody fist into the ground, "I said fire!"

"You'll kill us all alright," the Victor said. The Lieutenant was panting and blood oozed down his nose from where the Alex had struck him. He placed a hand over the razor-thin hole in the wall, "How many… petty souls would that be?"

"Too many," Yes'ruch said, stepping between them.

The Warlock waved his pistol with an unsteady arm, "Get out of my way."

"You are dying, Palmarias," she said, kicking the weapon from his hand. "You need to return to the ship."

He gave a wet cough, choking and hacking in a manner completely unbefitting an Eldar leader. He instinctively tore his warmask off, the blood inside drenching the entire faceplate. His lips and teeth were cascading red, but the only stain she saw was that of fear; the universal Eldar fear of death.

The Warlock tried to swallow but spit out another mouthful of his own blood onto the floor. "Yes… damn it, yes, take me back."

"As you wish." Turning on her heels, Yes'ruch started back to the bridge, her boots leaving red footprints behind.

As she stepped through the door, the Alex caught her, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Yes'ruch turned slowly and found the Alex's dark expression eerily familiar, as if he reveled in the slow death his shot inflicted. Meanwhile, the Victor had wiped the blood from his nostrils and, in his disheveled commander's uniform, looked more ragged than any mon-keigh she'd seen before.

"Humans, enough lives have been lost. We will relinquish this vessel as soon as we have returned."

"Returned?" the Alex said. "You're our prisoners, xeno." He stepped back and kicked the Warlock on the ground, causing him to groan through bloody teeth.

"Don't get any ideas, our station's guns are still trained on this ship," the Victor added. "We just need to give them an excuse."

Yes'ruch chuckled but the Alex was quicker than she expected and slammed her in the gut with the butt of his gun, "Quiet, witch."

"You think…" she gasped, "Your comrades are the only ones watching this ship?" The Black Guardian straightened up, backing through the doorway, "Our ship has been watching this system for weeks. A dozen brightlances now wait to tear this hull to pieces."

The humans gave each other a baffled look before the Alex smiled, "You're bluffing."

"Would you like to find out?" she said. The two still held their weapons, their comrades behind them murmuring to one another warily as they continued to watch the Black Guardians before them. While they deliberated how much they wanted to die in a broadside of brightlance fire, Yes'ruch walked through the corridor and back to the pilot's chair. Turning the comms off, she engaged what thrusters remained operational and the ship began to thrum loudly, moving away from the moon.

She caught the clomping of boots behind her as the wavy form of her vessel just came into view. The scout ship held a steady low orbit over the planet, and just as she suspected, its cloaked weapons lined up shots on the rudimentary human vessel. The Victor strode past her, his jaw agape as the immense form of the ship loomed steadily closer, its hull opening like a tear in the fabric of reality to accept the broken human war machine into it. His laspistol swung absently by his side, almost dropping. The Alex looked awestruck as well but nonetheless held his barbaric weapon at the ready. He was by far a better trained soldier than his superior and Yes'ruch quietly wondered just how the humans decided their chain of command.

"By the Throne, that thing is enormous…" the Victor said, pressing a hand against the viewing screen. He turned to her, breathless, "What is it?"

"It is called the _Se'laman Thesria_. Be grateful, human, for few of your kind have ever seen an Eldar vessel this closely."

The Victor wrinkled his nose, "The _Salmon Tessa_?"

Yes'ruch sighed, "In your hideous mon-keigh parlance it translates to _The Keeper of the Seven Keys to Ascension, Book II: Hemispheres."_

"Hmph, a fancy name for a fancy tin can," the Alex added. "Any Imperial war vessel could rip those pretty streamers it calls bulkheads apart in a single salvo."

"I would invite you to try," she tersely replied, "but we are about to request docking clearance."

Both humans' heads spun so fast she thought they'd snapped their own necks, "WHAT!?"

She didn't reply, letting the scene speak for her as they neared the opening. Her mind touched those of the landing crew as the ship slowly moved inside, guided by their directions. Lines of Black Guardians patrolled the corridor, each with their eyes cast on the incoming ship. War Walkers and grav-tanks were wrested from hangers, their weapons at attention as their pilots silently took aim with their computers on the transgressing mon-keigh vessel. The black and bone motifs of their armor gleamed under the omnipresent yet nearly sourceless light emitted by the ship, its hull seeming to radiate a passive energy inside like a warm spring sun. The broken ship pulled into an empty hanger, one of many, as Yes'ruch suddenly recalled this was all supposed to be a mere training and reconnaissance mission.

Clumsily, the ship touched down, it's damaged wing sagging onto the landing strip like a hamstrung leg. Black Guardians arranged themselves in formation around the disabled hulk, its rear door struggling to open after being half-welded shut by glancing blows from the Necron gauss weapons. Yes'ruch returned to the cargo area with the two humans clutching their weapons like children holding security blankets, following her closely. She found two Black Guardians kicking the ramp down, its hinges grinding and groaning with every inch it was forced. Finally it slammed into the dock. The instant sight of a hundred shuriken weapons pointed right at them froze the already frightened mon-keighs in their tracks, and she could hear the pounding of their hearts.

A troop of Black Guardians immediately ran aboard, forcing the humans to their stomachs while the wounded and dead were hurried off the ship. Palmarias was carried away, his breathing weak. Yes'ruch watched as they moved him between the looming war machines. So long as they got him to the hospital wing in time, he might survive. She watched as spirit stones were gathered from a pair of Black Guardians who were not so lucky. Both succumbed to their wounds from the moon's tunnels, including the man she dragged back from arming the bomb.

" _A mon-keigh vessel? Palmarias certainly has not lost his flair for unusual entrances."_ Yes'ruch looked up. It was another member of the Warlock Council, Emerseth.

" _Palmarias was lucky to escape with his life,"_ she replied, her psyker voice strong. _"And his reluctance to heed my warnings cost two of our Black Guardians theirs."_

Emerseth strolled aboard the vessel, stepping on one of the cowering humans pressed against the floor by the barrels of his soldiers. _"You are one to speak of warnings, lost one. As I recall, I warned you not to dally with the practice of farsight while not treading the Seer's Path."_

She bit her tongue. Emerseth was the more even-keeled member of the Council, but with Palmarias injured and the blood of two Eldar on his hands, she could sense even his patience was being tested. Looking over the cargo hold, the Warlock groaned, _"So, some of the vermin are still alive? Are you looking to adopt them as pets?"_

" _No, more like…plants."_

" _Plants?"_

Yes'ruch motioned to the one in a coat, his already bloody nose being shoved into the hard floor by an armored boot. _"This human commander is cooperative. He is, for the moment, useful for keeping this planet under observation."_

" _And useful for telling his Imperium's forces that an Eldar ship is in their space, observing their planets."_

Yes'ruch shook her head, she knew it would be an impossible task to convince the Council that human conspirators were necessary to safeguard, of all things, a lifeless gas giant. They would slay the humans and likely exterminate the entire moon installation before moving on, surrendering this whole sector to a hideous fate.

" _Lost one, I am astonished."_ Emerseth said. _"What in your perverted visions concerns you so gravely that you would stoop to consort with the mon-keigh?"_

" _I cannot tell you, Emerseth."_

The Warlock strode forward, his hand ever so slightly brushing his robe from the hilt of his witchblade, _"Cannot? Or will not?"_

" _Oh that I could, Warlock, but it is a vision that I alone must bear."_ Yes'ruch turned a weary gaze towards the mon-keighs, their fear and pain at the hands of her people only a slight comfort, _"You cannot see all that I have seen, and to reveal any part without the whole would only drive you along a doomed course."_

" _Lost one, two Eldar died today, and I believe it was in no small part because of your machinations."_ Emerseth laid his palm firmly on his witchblade's grip. _"I am going to have to explain to the Council the reason for their deaths. I am going to have to tell two grieving families that they died because you saw fit to stray for your wayward predictions."_ He lowered his head, the warmask imposing a harsh presence on her mind, _"This is your last chance to redeem yourself."_

Reluctantly, she lowered her mental barriers. His warmask linked to hers and she could see his baleful face in her minds' eye. _"I will show you, under the strict conditions that you allow these humans to return to their moon unharmed and do not speak a word of this to the Farseer."_

" _Your actions do not place you in any position to be making conditions, lost one, and your queer attitude and pastimes lend you no favors."_

Yes'ruch stepped forward, walking over a human lying on the ground as the Warlock followed. She felt the color drain from her face as a dozen Black Guardians accompanied them, their shuriken catapults at the ready. Apparently the humans were not the only ones with their freedom on the line. She led Emerseth and his entourage through the lower levels of the ship, each passerby seeing her more or less being taken prisoner by her own master. She could feel their condescending judgments in the air, her attenuation to their thoughts magnified by the warmask. Every one stuck like a knife in her gut, adding to the litany of scandal her presence evoked.

Eventually they reached the upper decks, where the meditation rooms and viewing portals lay. She'd spent many years in rooms like these, contemplating the future before the luminescent faces of the planets and their magnificent suns. It was in a room much like these she made the discovery that led her here in the first place. The vision she dismissed long ago.

" _Here, Emerseth,"_ she said, motioning towards one of the portals. Its frame glowed in welcome as she entered, the wraithbone sensing her psychic presence. _"Cast your runes, see the future that will befall us if you murder those humans."_

The Warlock stepped forward and saw the enormous surface of the gas giant XGN-T34. The planet stretched before them like an ocean, swirling clouds and raging storms of hydrogen and helium expanding far into the distance. Its orange light filled his warmask as he gave a questioning look towards her before reaching for his rune pouch. Pulling out the wraithbone shapes one by one, he began to cast them, his mind slipping between perception and reality as he saw the path before them. The images flashing in his mind were like background static to Yes'ruch, though she could tell the other Black Guardians in the room couldn't sense it. It was a kinship she felt only with those who travelled the Path of the Seer.

The runes hummed in warm light as they circled Emerseth, twisting and aligning themselves according to his divinations. He was not nearly as adept at Seeing as the Farseers, but it was something all Warlocks were able to manifest to some degree in order to conduct battle. As he reached for his fifth rune, the others contorted, their order twisting into something unnatural.

"I… don't understand," he said audibly, his psychic voice still communing with the runes. They danced before him, the fifth twirling around the planet in the viewing portal.

"But we destroyed them. The mission was successful. We… Isha's tears!"

She could sense his tension, his urge to see more. The Warlock was pulling too deeply from the Warp and his powers strained the limits of his own mind. One of the runes threw itself against the viewing pane, the wraithbone cracking and hissing before bursting into flames. Emerseth staggered backwards, catching himself on a small table and nearly knocking it over. The Black Guardians behind her jumped at the sight of their Warlock being overwhelmed. Yes'ruch could see the confusion on his face as clear as day through the warmask, his emotions laid bare by this sudden upset. Slowly he regained his composure, pulling himself upright and gathering the remaining runes which had fallen to the floor.

" _Well?"_ Yes'ruch asked. _"Did you see the horror that awaits?"_

" _I saw…"_

" _And the humans?"_

The Warlock looked at her as though she'd grown two heads, _"After seeing what I have seen, their fate still commands your attention? Are you daft?"_

" _Pragmatic, Emerseth. I know you do not trust my foresight, but you must let those humans go. Too many Eldar lives are at risk."_

The Warlock shook his head but replied, _"Fine, very well, let them return. Though if these visions are true, it would be more merciful to kill the now than subject them to the things I have witnessed."_

" _Without them, those horrors will encompass more than just a few planets."_

" _I hope all our sakes you are right. Besides, even if they do inform their Imperium of our whereabouts, we will be long gone before any reinforcements arrive."_

" _You…you would have us just leave!?"_ Yes'ruch did a double-take, _"Why!?"_

" _Because…"_ The Warlock stepped forward, looking intently at the planet beneath them. _"We are going to need a bigger ship."_

* * *

The _Naglfari_ hung in the air over the lowest precipice of the Gypsy Road tower, wearing its night shields like a skirted storm cloud. Warriors of the Kabal of the Iron Maiden stood in rows along the edge of the skiff, their chain belts secured to the rig, ready for flight at a moment's notice. Auroq, Archon Irons' Sybarite, watched from the gun at the bow, hoisting the dark lance to and fro as he scanned the tower with the targeting sensors. Behind them, sitting on her deck chair, the Archon caressed the barrel of her blaster in anticipation. Her reluctant Canoness swayed beside her, giving a nervous look over the edge of the grav-craft to the harrowing fall that would await should she lose her balance.

"Afraid of heights, my dear?" Archon Irons purred. A small box beside her echoed her statement in the mon-keigh language as she reached for two chain leashes on the arm of her chair. Fastened to them were a pair of broken Sisters, clad only in the written litany of sins they'd committed, each affixed to their bodies by wax seals. The Archon had to admit, these "Sororitas" had a certain flair for torture and humiliation.

The Canoness returned to her usual stoic demeanor, "Death would be a blessing for me."

"Not at all, Athena," Archon Irons chirped, pulling on the chains. The two Sisters, drugged and hallucinating, clambered towards the Archon. They crawled like animals to her feet where they gently caressed her armored boots, each one rubbing her cheeks upon them like a cat. The Archon smiled broadly, "You are about to kill 'xenos', yes? You mon-keigh like killing xenos."

The Canoness gave her a stern look as the box repeated her words, "Not as thralls, daemon."

Erinyes reached beside her and pulled up the Agonizer, its tip grazing one of the almost naked Sisters at her feet, causing welts all across her back. "What was that?"

The Canoness lowered her gaze, "Nothing… _my Archon._ "

"Wonderful," she said, placing the whip down beside her once more. "Do try to cheer up, you and your Sisters are in for such a treat!"

Canoness St. Claire returned her attention to the scene below, "We are to be your shock troops, correct? With any luck we will find the Emperor's peace before the night is through."

"Some of you will, I have no doubt," Erinyes said. "But first you will witness the beauty and the majesty of the Cult of Claws in action." She yanked the chain of one of her pets, pulling the crazed Sister into her lap. "What mon-keigh can claim to have beheld such a spectacle before?"

The Canoness swallowed but said nothing.

"I mean as a spectator of course. Plenty of your kind have been torn to crimson shreds by the Cult but those hardly count. You will get to savor every emotion, every tumultuous display as they seek revenge on Salendrid."

Canoness St. Claire rested her hand on her hip and the other on the pommel of her power sword, "Just who is this Salendrid?"

"That, my pet, is an Eldar matter."

"Apparently not, since you need our help to kill him," the Canoness quipped.

Archon Irons leaned forward in her seat, causing the Sister in her lap to fall out. Crossing her hands across the butt of her blaster, she rocked back and forth on the rounded barrel between her legs, giving the Canoness a wicked grin. "My, my, you do have quite the viper's tongue. How about this, when the night is over and I am lying in my old chambers once more, I will tell you about Archon Salendrid and the little game he ran."

The Canoness's curiosity got the better of her before she could hide behind her usual stone cold expression.

"Of course, this would imply certain… favors."

Archon Irons ran her steel-clad finger down Athena's jaw, causing her to flinch. Narrowing her eyes, the Archon licked her lips in anticipation of the night to come as she sized her up.

Canoness St. Claire recoiled away, backing into the railing by the edge of the stern, "In my _nightmares_ , monster!"

"Come now, do you think I let you keep wearing that armor just for functionality?" Erinyes replied. She stood up and approached the Canoness, leaving the two almost naked Sisters by her chair. Athena shuffled away but the Archon grabbed her and forced her close, one hand firmly grabbing her armored ass, and the other holding the pulsing darklight tip of her blaster to her face. "And what did you call me?"

"N-nothing, my Archon."

Wrapping her arm around her neck, Archon Irons grabbed the Canoness' hair and yanked her head back. Gasping in shock, she was stifled by Erinyes' burgundy Eldar lips. Her kiss was toxic, and Canoness St. Claire felt the life being drained from her as the Archon literally took her breath away, sucking her tongue into her mouth. It was as if she were stealing a piece of her soul.

Her impulses contented, Erinyes released her captive, letting the Canoness sink to the floor of the grav-craft. She wiped away a bit of the human's blood from her lips before slipping into her chair once more. Looking up, she spotted Reaver and Hellion gangs skirmishing across the skylines. Their occasional jots of splinterfire and the jinking of the bikes and skyboards made for passable entertainment as her plaything recovered. The Archon smirked as a passing Scourge claimed one of their numbers, plucking a hapless skyboarder from his mount with its talons and carrying him off into the dizzying heights of the city spires.

Then the mood shifted. The skirmish above stopped, the pilots fanning out as one, beckoned by their mistress to make way. Erinyes felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end; her Sisters would be deployed soon. From above, a wave of grav-craft began to circle the tower, falling out of the distortion of the webway like a plague of locusts. Skyboards and jetbikes whirled around, their weapons fixed on the enemy gun emplacements. The occasional Raider and Venom filled out the spindly attack force, each loaded to the brim with Wyches of the Cult of Claws. The Gypsy Road now certainly knew it was under siege but strangely they made no attempt to rout this assault.

Erinyes raised her hand, "Bring us down, helmsman. The Sisters should be along shortly."

"Yes, my Archon," he replied, lowering the _Naglfari_ to the road below. The streets were empty, with the casual pedestrians long since driven off by the feuding Hellions and Reavers above. All that remained were the guards of the Gypsy Road, though more Kabals still loyal to Salendrid would surely lend their aid at any moment. At least until they were certain that the Gypsy Road were no longer holding their leash. Eldar loyalty tended to be as capricious as their temperaments.

A crack of darklight rang out and everyone looked up. The swirling tempest above erupted into chaos as splinterfire and dark lances blasted the side of the tower. Disintegrators lining the spires immediately fired back, mowing down the stragglers with their plasma shots. These weren't the casual dunces the Archon was used to seeing in a Kabal's ranks, but veteran soldiers, methodically pelting the most dangerous targets with unrelenting streams of superheated matter. Warriors supported by splinter racks laid down withering shots from the higher floors, and a wing of Gypsy Road assault craft reared into the air, protected by the high walls of one of the many courtyards.

The Cult of Claws still had the advantage of speed however. Wyches leapt from the Cult's Raiders with startling precision, landing on the enemy porticos and decks, cutting the warriors to ribbons with their infamous hydra gauntlets. Erinyes smiled as the first of the purple Gypsy Road Raiders fell from the sky, its engines flaming as it crashed into the streets before them, illuminating the faceless helmets of dozens of warriors cowering behind covering walls.

"Alright," she said, looking over the burning wreckage, "it's time we make our move." Erinyes tapped the side of her deck chair, "Glaucon, release the pigs."

The sound of distant motors rumbled through the breathlessly high towers around them. It wasn't the shrill cry of a grav-engine but the chugging, lumpy sound of the mon-keigh vehicles. Erinyes cast a glace over her shoulder to the Canoness who looked as though she were going to be sick. In the distance, painted war machines rolled forward, with banners unfurled and prayers affixed across the armor like parade floats. Erinyes nodded to the Canoness who, with a nervous look, stepped off the grav-craft. The _Naglfari_ rose into the air once more, its engines silent as it wafted about, giving all aboard a good look at just what the Archon's new "Haemonculus" had cooked up. A dozen tanks of varying sorts rolled in formation, escorting a number of the Sisters on foot. From their armor to their vehicles, each was clad in dark purple and blood red, accented with trim of tarnished gold. It was a stark contrast from their previous piercing silver and Erinyes had to appreciate the melodramatic change. It showed commitment.

Lumbering behind the formation of rolling tanks were the Grotesques, each one a former Sister, their features as twisted as the dark heart that lovingly carved them. Mixed in with their numbers, however, were several hulking machines that made the Archon's heart skip a beat. They were abominably ugly, brutish things, like walkers. They carried an enormous flamer on each arm along with buzzsaws and chain swords affixed to the promethium engines. The pilot wore only a simple robe, their body plugged into the machine from behind by a dozen thick wire braids. There was no armor, no protection at all, and the remains of the previous occupants were left to coagulate on the metal grate that supported the crucified Sister. Every so often one of them would flinch, their pilot letting out a pained and exhilarated gasp that made Archon Irons grin with delight.

"I had no idea the mon-keigh were so creative when it came to torture!" she said out loud, pointing at the machine with the tip of her blaster. "What do they call that?"

"I have not the faintest, my Archon," Auroq replied from the bow. "Personally I find it droll."

"You never were one for the baser arts of torture and humiliation," she said, still peering over the ledge. "Ah, these humans are after my own heart. Ready now, they are about to attack."

The Sisters hunkered down behind their war machines, ready for the signal as the Gypsy Road guards lied in wait. Though the road that lead to the Iron Maiden's old lair was by no means as well defended as the other Kabals who called this spire home, it was still carved into the tower in such a way that it could be held by a small force. What's more, the new occupants seemed to have wasted no time settling in as new battlements were jutting from above the main gate.

Archon Irons tapped a sensor on the armrest of her chair, "Kylendris, the Sisters are in position."

A crack was heard in the distance and the Naglfari glided back, giving a panoramic view of the tower's base. A faint shriek was heard, followed by the rupture of four of the battlements in a symphony of explosions and plasma. Purple armor with the limbs still inside sprayed across the road as the first layer of protection was stripped away. Moments later the Razorwing Jetfighter zoomed across the sky, its dark lances firing wildly as it jinked away from the flurry of disintegrator shots coming from the upper levels.

Canoness St. Claire drew her power sword, holding on to the frame of one of her metal boxes for support as it slowly rolled, "Forward, my Sisters! Cleanse this befouled ground with His holy flame!"

The formation charged like a wall of steel, the spiked dozer blades on the front of the machines tearing the battlements down and crushing the front gate. A hail of splinterfire erupted as soon as the mon-keigh cleared the gate but it was no use against such thick plates. The tanks stopped as their turrets flared to life. Three heavy flamers swiveled effortlessly back and forth, spraying their payload over the hapless Gypsy Road Eldar below. The jellied flames rolled right over whatever cover they tried to take and boiled them alive inside their own armor. Steam and smoke were all that remained as the merciless Sisters rolled forward in tight formation. Next, to the Archon's dismay, a line of tanks fired three streams of melta into the side of the tower, carving long divots into the barricaded door before bulldozing the entire wall down.

The Grotesques barreled through the opening first, pulverizing anything alive inside until their victims bodies were nothing but scraps of meat. The Sisters themselves however were more methodical, each squad using their flamers to burn out a room before sending its occupants in to systematically clear the survivors with grenades and bolters. Some Sisters carried melta weapons, which Erinyes despised, as the mon-keigh had no reservations about making a door where they felt one was too well defended.

"It seems our home will be liberated in no time at all," Auroq said, watching with well concealed amusement.

"Yes, but now the repairs will take ages," the Archon moaned. She tapped a sensor on her deck chair, "Canoness, if your Sisters punch one more hole in my beautiful tower, their bodies will be used as the mortar to fix it."

There was a pause as the box beside her slowly translated the sentence, then a tense, "Yes, my Archon."

"Good," she replied. Turning to her helmsman, she wafted her hand upwards. The Naglfari rose straight up, dodging the disintegrator shots still bristling from the tower's lower levels. The upper portion however was clogged with the fresh dead of the Gypsy Road, their warriors being picked over by some Hellions by the Cult of Claws. As the Raider moved closer, the Archon stood up, her warriors unchaining themselves from the grav-craft and moving behind her in two rows. Stepping off the Raider, she trod lightly on the corpses of the poor defenders, their bodies making a fine red carpet for her arrival.

Archon Irons stepped through the main opening to the upper portions of the tower. She'd been here only a handful of times, but like any aspiring Eldar, knew the layout of her adversary's lair by heart. The ordinarily pristine curtains and flowing carpets were now stained with the blood and liquid poison of hundreds of dead warriors and sycophants. Some still clung to life, their wails strategically placed so that the survivors could fuel the bloody power from pain her kind extracted in the heat of battle. The Archon and her entourage stepped over bodies and discarded weapons, strolling to the throne room as if it was Erinyes' own coronation.

Two massive cathedral doors came into view, open to a grand room of marble and lined with the dazzling light of glowing pearls. Contained in each was the soul of some sentient being that had at one point slighted the Archon of this tower, each eternally tormented by the crushing pressure of their prison. She could feel their pain roll over her like the waters of a warm bath as she entered and took a moment to bask in her accomplishment. About a hundred Wyches lined the room, which accommodated their numbers and then some. Encircling the throne was Succubus Chariath, escorted on all sides by her Bloodbrides. Surrounding the throne with glaives outstretched were a handful of Incubi, their ranks closed around their master with a duty and loyalty no other Commorrite possessed.

"My Archon!" Erinyes bellowed, bowing deeply as she stepped upon the throne room floor, "How delightful it is to find you unharmed."

"Erinyes Irons," Salendrid growled, standing from his throne, "What in Vect's name are you doing here?"

"Resuming my throne, of course," she replied. "And catching a front row seat to watch the Cult of Claws exact their revenge."

"Your throne!?" Salendrid coughed, breaking into a hearty laugh, "Oh, 'Archon', you really have got it twisted."

"Silence," Chariath demanded, pointing her lightning claw at the Incubi before her. The heavily armored warriors locked ranks, their lethal weapons at the ready.

"You would do well to remember who's house this is, Syren," he shot back. "And as for you, Erinyes…" he drew his blast pistol, "Do you have any idea how much pressure I spared that pathetic gang you call a Kabal?" He pointed at the walls, gesturing to the pearls containing his former adversaries, "I gave you a home, protection from the innumerable dangers this city possesses, and this is how you repay me? Storming my home with a band of Wyches out for blood, a band of crazed mon-keighs, and those shiftless vagabonds you call your warriors?"

Archon Irons held her blaster and took careful aim, but no matter how she lined her shot the Incubi seemed to stand in the way as if they knew her every move. "You killed Lady Arataire, Salendrid. As the new sponsors of the Cult of Claws, offering to help in their revenge is the least I can do."

"About that," he said, his voice low and dark, "I believe there was a misunderstanding between our two organizations." He turned Chariath who, to Erinyes' surprise, was still not tearing the Gypsy Road Archon to shreds. "Syren, it is my understanding that the Coven of the Didactic Cave refuses to uphold your regeneration contract, correct?"

Chariath lowered her claws, "The contract was between them and your Kabal on our behalf, not us directly. They are… adamant about this."

"Then it seems without my say so, your Succubus remains deceased," Salendrid said matter-of-factly.

"It was your hand that killed my Lady," she replied, raising her weapons once more, "And I shall extract our revenge in full."

"There is no need for that, Syren." He said, raising his hand. "I shall authorize your regeneration contract and have the Haemonculi return your Succubus to you. Certainly this carnage is toll enough for the inconvenience of a few… terse and heated words between us."

Archon Irons sneered, "You must think Chariath a fool to fall for such a simple ploy." She raised her blaster and prepared to pick off the closest Incubi.

"Wait," Chariath said, "What assurance do I have that you will keep your word, Salendrid?"

The Archon steepled his fingers, "Why, I have a member of the Didactic Cave right here, ready to deliver my orders at a moment's notice."

Erinyes raised an eyebrow as Salendrid gestured to a far door. From behind it stepped a Wrack with a metal claw for a hand, escorted on either side by a Grotesque.

"Glaucon?" she mouthed almost silently as he stepped into the room.

"My Archon," he said with a bow, the metal mask on his face reverberating his speech, "We have begun repurposing the lower levels, as you requested. My master says these new accommodations will be adequate to begin the creation of your Grotesques and any regeneration process you require once the equipment is in place."

Salendrid grinned, "You see? Lady Arataire shall be returned to you once more."

Chariath looked to the Wrack and Salendrid, then to Archon Irons. Erinyes' blaster lowered as much as her jaw as the shock of what was taking place hit home.

"I find your terms agreeable," she said at last.

"Fantastic, Syren. I will be sure to inform Lady Arataire of your unwavering loyalty in seeing her returned." He motioned towards his own bodyguards, "Your sense of duty rivals that of even the Incubi."

"I… thank you, my Archon," she said, bowing low. Every wych in the hall did likewise, their presence no longer a threat to the master of the Gypsy Road.

Archon Irons gritted her teeth. Her victory was so close she could taste it and now it was slipping through her grasp. In anger and frustration she cried out, firing her blaster at Salendrid. One of the Incubi immediately stood in the way and their armor was vaporized by the blow. No sooner did the guard's corpse hit the ground however than Chariath was at her neck, lightning claws a mere breath from her pale skin.

"Do not attempt that again," she said.

"I thought… we were your sponsors," Archon Irons said.

"You are," Chariath replied. "I have no quarrel with you, Erinyes. But the Gypsy Road is our sponsor as well, and if it is a choice between the two…"

"You would be doing us both a favor, Chariath," Salendrid said. "The Iron Maidens know nothing of loyalty or gratitude, and her continued existence is a disgrace to my own good nature."

The acting Succubus turned around, "I cannot kill my own sponsor."

"Of course. As I said, your loyalty is daunting," he purred. Raising his blast pistol he added, "So allow me."

Archon Irons felt a tug on her armor as she was forced backwards. One of her warriors fell in the way, taking the darklight shot to the chest as she stumbled back towards the door.

"Haha! What's the matter, Erinyes? Lost your taste for violence already?" Another darklight shot cracked down the hallway, claiming another of her warriors as she sprinted towards the patio. Vaulting the bodies that lay strewn at her feet, Erinyes cursed and spat the entire way, launching herself out the door.

Though Salendrid was on her heels, she was forced to pause at the sight that greeted her once in the open air. Hundreds of grav-craft from a dozen smaller Kabals circled the tower, their weapons combing the parapets and spire towers for hostiles, waiting for the order to engage. The march of Incubi behind her shook her back to her senses and Erinyes leapt onto her Raider still lingering over the balcony.

"My Archon," Auroq said, gripping the bow-gun. "We are surrounded, what happened in there?"

"Get us out of here!" she replied, scrambling against the deck railing. Her warriors slung themselves over the railing as Salendrid ran out to meet them, escorted by the Succubus and his Incubi guards.

"Come now, Erinyes, can't you at least die with dignity," he said, reaching to his belt.

She took a snap shot at him as she frantically waved her pilot on. The _Naglfari_ lurched forward and Salendrid tossed his present aboard, letting out a chuckle as the Raider slipped out of sight. Erinyes watched the familiar orb roll to and fro, desperately trying to kick it overboard before it exploded in a haze of ozone and electromagnetic waves. The haywire grenade shuddered through the _Naglfari's_ engines, overriding the controls and sending it careening at full speed through the webway. The helmsman frantically tried to correct the course as everyone aboard held on for dear life. The two Sisters that were chained to the deck chair fell overboard, strangled by their own collars. Looking back, Erinyes saw the other Kabals in pursuit.

"Helmsman, bring us down! We need to lose them in the lower city!" she ordered.

He smashed the console with his fist, "The controls are fried, she won't respond!"

The _Naglfari's_ engines shrieked to their breaking point as it plowed through the webway, higher and higher. The console gradually reactivated and the helmsman threw the craft into a spiral, sending it down one of the wraithbone tubes that made up the many arteries of the webway. Commorragh thinned below them, its massive spires dwindling into a vast and endless sprawl as the Raider tore through the shifting connected passages. The Gypsy Road sycophants however refused to give up the chase. There was blood in the water, and Erinyes knew there had to be a bet on claiming her head.

The walls narrowed around them with every turn, the familiar gallery of webway portals revealing themselves to the precarious crew. Each one seemed to stretch forever down a twisted avenue or lead to the inky blankness of Realspace. Erinyes cursed and pointed one out that seemed familiar. The helmsman swung the _Naglfari_ around, its aethersail cracking at the strain of the maneuver as the ship hurled through the void, dragging its occupants into whatever fate awaited them beyond.


End file.
